Companions
by Idonquixote
Summary: Pre-canon. Fresh from Asia, Erik must reluctantly make a stop in a small Swedish village. A village haunted by a yellow eyed demon strewn from corpses. What begins as a detour soon becomes a gamble for survival. Being pestered by a violinist named Gustave Daae is the least of Erik's worries. Crossover with Frankenstein.
1. Chapter 1

**So what's to be said? The similarities in Shelley's Frankenstein and Leroux's Phantom are overwhelming but so are their differences, and so far, I only know of 2 crossovers that cover the original novels.**

**Here's my attempt at a chance encounter. The creature's death was mysterious- maybe he was just too strong to be killed off...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein**

* * *

It had been two weeks and four days since he left Asian soil. Clutching the cloak tighter to his form, the lone figure shut his eyes, masked face as expressionless as the melancholy snow drifting from above. He was not one to think much of others. But these days, his thoughts often trailed back to the Daroga of Mazenderan. _Quite a fool_.

The Persian had been a fool- that was all there was to it. He had risked everything for a monster of all things. The masked man would have smiled at the morbidness of that fact if it wasn't so hard to find the mirth in it. He kept his back against the wooden wall, knees drawn upright, feeling the fire's warmth ensnare him.

It had been too long since he last set foot in Europe. To his dismay, he was rather unaccustomed to the harsh Scandinavian weather. And almost, for an instance, he missed the Persian sun- he allowed himself a moment to remember the daroga's sunlit estate. But that was all in the past.

That welcoming sun was no better than the hearth of hell. He shivered again and crossed his arms, the cloak shifting ever so slightly with movement.

A small group of men gathered around the hearth, chattering in their Swedish tongue. The tavern was rising in volume as they excitedly spoke. He had not intended to eavesdrop, but the word "monster" pricked his ear.

"You hear what happened to the Finn's daughter?"

The speaker was a balding man with puffed cheeks. The man next to him, a thin fellow with a light beard, shook his head.

"Gustave, what world 'ave you been living in?" A cheerier voice asked.

"Oh, don't mock me anymore."

"They say the Finn went logging one day," another chimed in.

The balding one sneezed. "Where was I? Ah, yes- logging. His daughter was at home, tending her brothers, keeping house- you know her- her name... ah, can't remember. This continued for many days. She was a lovely girl, really, one of the finest I've seen. Strong, curved, a real wit to match."

Gustave sighed. "Where are we going with this?"

"Patience, Daae."

"Well, she left food behind their cottage. Why? A friend in need, she'd say. The Finn was determined to get to the bottom of this, for you see, 'friend' was a loose term- she was terrified of this bastard, whoever he was, terrified of what he'd do.

But one evening, the Finn got home, and what does he see? That girl pale as snow and lying broken on the floor- the monster was over her, oh, a huge bastard he was."

The man raised his hands. "Yellow, unnatural eyes. The skin of a corpse and greasy, thin black hair. He was a terrible thing to behold."

"I've seen him," the cheery voice cut in, "I've seen him too- in the woods. Stole my cheese."

"The Finn's dead now, ya know?"

"I saw him last night!" Gustave exclaimed.

"Well, you won't see him anymore."

Behind the group, the masked man opened his eyes, revealing a set of golden irises. The tales continued, of this creature who haunted their town, who took their daughters, who stole their food. How much of it was true was up in the air. He stared moodily into the flickering flames. The description sounded painstakingly familiar.

_No, it was not Erik. It was some other wicked wretch._

A monster in the woods. It had been there for quite some time, according to the men, ever since the start of winter. But it was just a story for bored ears and Erik soon lost his interest. For all he knew, someone might have seen _his_ face and decided to start a childish prank.

"Who's that?"

He stiffened in the corner. That was Gustave's voice, lowered to a harsh whisper.

"The mask? Probably some convict." "Looks rich, though." "Don't look at him."

Their conversation went back to the weather and their petty lives. The monster in the woods was forgotten.

* * *

When his hunger was sufficiently satisfied, he went back to the village. His steps were careful, though heavy and numb. He resolved to start a fire soon, one not too close to town but a tolerable distance. Yellow eyes scanned the vincinity of the forest.

In the shelter of the woods, he was undetected. For years, he had lived this way. And for years, it would continue.

Her name was Aana. He had watched her for quite some time, observed her movements, learned her pains and pleasures. Aana.

Huge hands touched the bark. He had a desperate need for companionship, but refused to learn: her death was his to blame. It was an all too familiar scenario and the hulk of a man shuddered.

The villagers were aware of his presence. It wouldn't be long before he had to move on, but the resentment simmered within him. He wanted to give them reason to hate him. That was something his _father_ had taught him- fear and loathing came from reason. Science provided an answer for everything.

He would give them the reason they craved. There was nothing that differed this village from all the rest.

* * *

Erik awoke to a light tap on his shoulder. Instinctively, he started and threw his hands over the attacker's shoulders. The latter stumbled against his grip and shaken, Erik let go. He shivered. This was no attack.

The other man's wide blue eyes radiated fear. "S- sir?"

Still in a fit, Erik looked at his surroundings, lit dimly by the fire. He was still in the tavern and the small group of men had dwindled to three. They were staring apprehensively at him, as if ready to fight if necessary.

It would be prudent to speak before he drew any more attention.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, figure relaxing. French had stupidly slipped out of his mouth. He shook his head and repeated the apology in Swedish.

The other man, who he recognized as Gustave, drew in a sharp breath. "Did I scare you?"

He nodded.

"I speak French, sir, if that makes you more comfortable."

His French was good, Erik admitted. The accent was a tad heavy but it was fluent nonetheless- perhaps even a little better than the daroga's...

"No need," the masked man replied.

"Well, it's getting late, sir. Manager didn't want you to stay here. There's an inn nearby. Shouldn't be more than ten steps."

Erik stole a glance at the dusty clock. It was well past midnight; he internally cursed himself for falling asleep- he should have been in that inn by then and gone the next day. But given the amount of snowfall, he wasn't sure if that was possible.

Another man, the one with the chippy voice, felt the need to say something, much to Erik's annoyance.

"Gustave, you wouldn't mind showing our visitor the way, would you?"

The derision was obvious and Gustave frowned at the snickering. They were daring him to handle the masked lunatic. Without a word, Gustave gestured for Erik to follow him and the man was soon out the wooden doors, freezing gusts of wind blowing in.

Erik replaced the hat on his head and followed suit, sweeping his belongings into his arms. He heard an unpleasant comment about the color of his eyes before all words were drowned by the roaring of a blizzard's shadow.

* * *

It was dreadfully cold, even by his standards. He made his way sluggishly through the village, the wind howling and shreds of snow obscuring his vision. Any fire would be put out.

Refuge was out of the question, but he didn't intend to live out the night in such discomfort. He would have gladly welcomed a frozen death but that was not to be. His _father_ had been certain to make him stronger than the average man.

The ragged cloak billowed behind him, and from under the wide hood, he saw two figures approaching. He was in the village and hidden between two battered structures. One of the men, he recognized, in spite of the man's large coat.

Aana had called him the violinist. The other was a mass of black. They passed him silently, moving quickly and against the wind. He stuck his head out from the hiding spot and stole a glimpse of the other man.

A dark barrier blocked the stranger's face, but he had already seen the yellow eyes.

Panting, he left the wedge; it wasn't possible. Another of his kind existed. No- he would have to be sure. They went into the inn. And he would follow.

* * *

"There's no need to accompany me any further, M. Daae."

Erik placed his bag on the floor and examined the shabby room. The floorboards were creaking, the windows dusty, and the bed looked as if it would topple any second. _Better than a cage_.

He swore to never stay in such a wretched place again. Gustave placed the lamp on the bedside desk as he offered a soft smile beneath that wet beard.

"It's no trouble," he said nervously.

"Do you expect me to pay you?"

Gustave's eyes betrayed his offense. "No. I simply noticed you carry a violin."

"Oh?"

Erik slid to his knees and opened the bag, aware of Gustave following his every move. The violin case met his bony hands and in a moment, the instrument itself was between the two men.

"I'm a musician as well, sir. Sadly, my last violin was destroyed."

Erik frowned. The man couldn't possibly be suggesting-

"I'll pay you for it. I'll provide lodging even. My home over this inn."

"It's not for sale."

"As a fellow artist-"

"Thank you for your trouble, M. Daae."

Flustered, Gustave dropped the subject. Erik placed the violin back in its case and glanced at the other man, all but telling him to leave.

"Good night, Monsieur," Gustave sighed.

Erik watched the dejected man turn around and wiggle into his coat, noticing with amusement the way the man's fingers twitched, as if itching to play the instrument.

"And Monsieur," Gustave added as an afterthought before closing the door, "you-

Erik tilted his head. Had M. Daae come up with a fitting insult?

"You have a wonderful voice."

The door shut. Erik blinked, caught by surprise.

* * *

_He_ was at the window, staring into its cracked glass, past the dust and into the dim light. _His_ breath came out hot and heavy, the reflection of a stitched carcass on the glass. Even the wind could not sway him.

The man wore a mask, he could see that. The other pair of yellow eyes were focused more on the bed than the violin.

_He_ remembered the violin in his own arms, how Daae's instrument had been crushed. The man turned his back toward the window and placed a set of spidery fingers on the back of his head, reaching for the strings that held the mask together.

_He_ turned away from the window as the masked man whipped around, aware of his presence. A moment of waiting.

_He_ turned back. The mask was on the bedside table and the man himself was beneath the covers. _He_ couldn't see well past the blurred glass, but thin wisps of black hair lay on top of the pale exposed scalp.

_He_ could see no more. It was time to leave.

* * *

**I hope that was worth reading and please review. This is my first time writing a legitimate crossover, and I'd like to know if I'm doing it right!**

**Next chapter, we find out what happened to Gustave's violin. This won't be a long story, but as it goes on, the more things escalate. I promise that there will be blood and tears and rage. This might be moved to crossovers soon but for now, I think I'll keep it here.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I got 1 review! And no one's telling me I'm not doing this crossover right, so I'll just assume you're all happy with this.**

** Erik'sTrueAngel: Thanks for being my 1 reviewer! Phantom and Frankenstein have so much crossover potential I'm surprised there aren't more of them. I'm sorry to say that Christine won't physically be in this fic, but she's here- sort of. And yes, there will be plenty of drama ahead!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own POTO or Frankenstein**

* * *

He watched the violinist enter the cottage. Almost without a sound, he approached the window and knelt, hidden by an adequate amount of bushes and twigs. The snow was still billowing about him, but it wasn't enough to sway the creature- he could endure the cold a while longer.

The man known as Gustave was smiling by a little fireplace, rubbing his hands for warmth. Sitting on a wooden rocking chair was a woman of medium stature, not particularly beautiful. She was nothing compared to his _father_'s Elizabeth or his once beloved French cottagers, but there was something about this woman and her soft golden curls. She was elegant and commonplace with girlish features that made her younger than she seemed. By comparison, the violinist looked like an old man when he seemed no older than thirty summers.

She was alluring. He watched them speak- they were not like the masked man- they were not aware of him. He read their lips. Gustave was bemoaning his lack of a violin. He was talking about the curious masked fellow, the man who shared the creature's eyes. The creature decided it was time to go back to Aana's dear little cabin.

The violinist's lips mouthed the word: "Kristine."

Kristine. So that was his wife's name. It was a good name, fitting and simple. He felt a twinge of resentment as he remembered the swelling of her belly.

* * *

Erik cursed the fates. The snow had not let up and if anything, only seemed to fall harder. It would be too difficult to travel given the circumstances and it would be impossible for a horse to go through it all. Turning away from the window, he finished pulling on the black jacket.

Ironically, he missed the robes of Constantinople and Tehran. He had a dreamless night and Erik was grateful for that alone.

_No more scorpions crawling over Erik's living corpse._

It had been an unsettling night regardless; someone had been watching him. It was probably a bird or some other poor animal. He put the mask back on his face, relishing in its security before securing it to his head. He checked the lasso in his pocket.

It was a morbid afterthought of his, but old habits tend to die hard. His stomach seemed to be rumbling but he had never been one to care for bodily needs- no, he wouldn't eat until he was sure he was starving.

Before he could make any further plans for the morning, there was a pounding at the door. Irritated, he marched over to the thing and twisted the knob. The door opened with a disturbing creak. The facilities of the inn were most definitely below his standards.

"M. Daae."

Gustave stood before him in the same heavy coat from the night before, holding his hat in his hands, and smiling rather sheepishly upwards.

"Monsieur, I was hoping we could have breakfast together," the man said in looping French.

"And why should I oblige you?"

"The violin-"

Erik prepared to close the door. Gustave's hand shot out and blocked it, revealing a set of small scars over the man's otherwise clean fingers. They captivated the Frenchman.

"How did you come about these?"

"When my first violin broke, the strings snapped. I tried to mend them."

Seeing no encouragement, Gustave continued, a little louder. "I care for my art, Monsieur. I honestly do- the violin is an art not a trade. It is my life, my livelihood."

Erik's eyes loomed over the shorter man. He would regret his next words: "I will join you in a moment, M. Daae."

He shut the door just as Gustave burst out with another request, one even more audacious than the last. "What shall I call you, good sir?"

_The Living Corpse, you buffoon!_ "Erik."

* * *

Anna's father had committed suicide over her death. He envied the old man. How many times had he tried to do so for himself? All for nought. The creature sighed, biting into a raw sausage, the bits dripping carelessly over his chin, his teeth gnashing away.

A sound alerted him. He listened intently as the footsteps of other beings crunched in the snow. He stood up and walked over to the dusty door, pausing, and pushing it open. There was a small band of villagers in the distance, half obscured by the woods.

They were laughing. How he hated the sound of happiness.

One of the men was holding up what appeared to be a burlap sack. His eyes narrowed. The sack was a covering of some sort, painted to like a man's stitched face. In the man's other hand was a long black wig. They disappeared into the woods and he slunk back into the cabin.

Feeling the rage coarse, he ripped the knob from the door and threw it on the ground. They meant to mock his visage. Why they needed to was another reason and he did not care to know. Yet.

There was still the issue of his masked companion to deal with.

* * *

Gustave shifted awkwardly in his seat, trying to stir up conversation with their guest. Kristine sat beside him, smiling politely and holding a mug of warm milk to her lips.

His luck was unbelievable already- the eccentric foreigner had agreed to join their meal. He even knew the man's name, part of it at least. If he could somehow win the other man's friendship, then perhaps the violin would be obtained at last. Erik sat across from them, poking at a sausage on his plate- the last sausage in their home to be precise.

The masked man had not eaten all morning. It was unsettling and Gustave could sense his wife's discomfort. She had been uneasy enough with his invitation and was more than upset by the mask. He had a burning need to see beneath that mask, but Gustave knew it was best to entertain Erik to the most of his ability. The violin was more important than whatever reason Erik had for hiding his face.

"What brings you to Sweden?" he asked at last. It did not come out in French; he wanted Kristine to understand the conversation as well.

"I was hoping to settle somewhere in the West. I have never been to the Nordic lands."

"You'll be settling here, sir?" Kristine asked suddenly. She coughed in embarrassment at the outburst.

"Preferably not. It's... not to my taste."

"Then where will you go?" Gustave said, watching as Erik tipped the mask up ever so slightly to sip his milk. The cover was down again before he could catch a proper glimpse of flesh.

"Belgium perhaps. Or France- I should like to return home."

Kristine was the only one talking after that point, asking questions about France and the like. Was Erik a well-traveled man? He had been to Persia! Was he a musician? What was his job? Architect, magician, technician! Gustave chuckled at his wife's astonishment, noting with relief that the air of apprehension disappeared about his guest. By the end of the conversation, Erik's sausage had disappeared. Where to, Gustave did not know.

* * *

Erik reclined on the chair, waiting with Gustave as his pregnant wife finished cleaning the last of their dishes. She was a wonderful woman and he felt a twinge of envy at the violinist. Such were the pleasures of the human race.

He had not intended to say so much to the couple, but their dispositions were charming enough, if not too forced. He saw no reason to play the rude guest. His eyes trailed back to the violinist's scars.

"M. Daae, I would like to hear you play the instrument."

Gustave's eyes lit up, but the reply was guarded. "With your permission, sir?"

Erik delivered a curt nod in the direction of his instrument case, wrapped in a crude black cloth. He had deemed the Swede worthy of his violin and for that, Daae was grateful.

Gingerly, Gustave approached the case, left on a small round table against the wall, its neighbors a box of matches and a sack of eggs. Still casting fleeting glances at the masked man, Gustave unraveled the case and pried it open. He lifted the violin and soon the fiddle was flying over the worn strings. Erik had underestimated the man.

Music was as much the other man's passion as it was his own. Gustave Daae poured his soul into the fiddle- there was life in his otherwise ordinary tune, a raw emotion that spoke to his audience. Erik had heard much better in his lifetime, but Gustave was by no means horrible. For the first time since arriving in Sweden, he felt a twinge of empathy for another man; Gustave could not wait another day longer- he needed an instrument as soon as time allowed. And looking at the squalid conditions the man lived in, at his little wife, at the isolated town, Erik understood why: the violinist needed the harmony in his life, he needed the harmony to aspire, he needed it to perform.

Gustave was not meant for any other profession.

"You are a natural at your art, M. Daae," he complimented, bringing his hands together in a light clap.

The violinist beamed as he lowered the violin. "Thank you."

* * *

His companion had not been at the inn. The man was not in the room but _he_ could see scattered belongings through the curtainless window. The violin case was missing, leaving a heavy clue. Gustave.

He turned and left, once again keeping to the shadows and narrow spaces, out of the sight of men. In spite of his size, he could be as silent as a cat. The violinist's home was not too far. He walked on, hands trembling in resentment.

Before Aana, there had been another friend in this dreary village. These two beings were the only reason he still stayed and suffered. When he first arrived at the start of winter, he had been ready to freeze at last. He was starved and bruised from years of trial, hardened from grief, and on the verge of giving it all up. The answer to his existence, the answer even his _father_ could not provide, was a lost cause.

But he did not die, for he collapsed behind the Daae's cottage. He was no stranger to the sound of a violin, but never had he heard music so pronounced, so emotional, so full of happiness. In the days that followed, he scavenged for food and resisted the urge to die. To hear that instrument was all he desired. All throughout his courtship of the wretched Aana, he would shadow the village in the hopes of finding his savior. He came to the Finn's cabin one night with a group of friends (how the word tore his heart in two!) and played.

That was when he finally saw the face of a man named Gustave Daae. But that same night he had attempted to track down the man, as if he would never learn that there was no acceptance for the likes of him. And Gustave had fled in the woods without even a scream, dropping the violin in his terror. In anger, he had smashed it afterwards.

But now as he peered through the Daae's window, he could feel nothing but resentment for the masked man. The man with his eyes, but who the violinist willingly extended friendship to. The sweet sound traveled past the walls. Even from behind a bush, he could see the way Gustave's eyes shone at the masked man's compliments.

"Will you play?" Gustave's mouth said.

The masked man must have complied for the violin had soon exchanged hands. The resulting tune shook the observer to the core. This was nothing like Gustave's playing. The melody was haunting and crafted, filled with more power and emotion than Gustave could ever hope for. He was shaking.

His ears had never heard anything so beautiful. He blinked back tears.

That was not the cheerful tune which saved him from death. That was the music he had only heard in dreams, only imagined when he pondered the divine. It was as if the masked man had spun a melody out his very life itself.

He was still shaking when the man stopped. He saw Gustave's eyes cloud, he saw Kristine return from the kitchen, weeping freely, and the masked man deliver a theatric bow. More than ever, he yearned to see behind that mask.

* * *

Erik left Gustave's home shortly after they exchanged performances, as politely as he could. He did not know much about Swedish etiquette and he was still struggling to remember European manners. The violin was tucked beneath his arm. He did not regret playing the violin far better than Gustave- perhaps that would dissuade the man from pestering him at last. If Daae was a true musician, he would strive and not deter.

If Gustave proved himself worthy, then perhaps Erik would consider selling the instrument. The violin that had accompanied him throughout his adolescence, his solace in the loneliest moments of his life.

He stopped moving. Snow crunched beside him. He turned his head sharply, only to find no assailant. He was greeted with snow.

Briefly, he cursed the villagers for not putting their houses closer together. Their dwellings were scattered from the village center, with more than enough space for a foreigner's comfort.

_"Help."_

Erik held his breath. It sounded like a child's whisper-

_"Please... help..."_

The noise was coming from the woods. He was cold, too cold to think straight- without thinking at all, he went to the source. After a few steps past a withering tree, he was nearly blinded by the sight on the snowy ground.

Not since he had left the middle east had he seen it. Red.

Dark red. A fair haired girl lay gasping in the snow, clothes ripped apart and bruised flesh harshly revealed. She was the source of all that blood, the red that traveled from between her legs and from her torso. Eyes fluttering and steam escaping her face, she stretched a trembling, marble hand toward him. _Help_.

Erik stooped by her and pulled the girl into his arms. Her blood soaked into his cloak and dripped onto the violin case, trailing back into the snow. He should have left her. What good could the angel of death do? And yet all he could remember was a distant vow never to kill again, one spoken to the closest thing he had to a friend on this earth.

He knew she would die but she would not die in his arms. She would not die alone in the snow. He would make sure of it. The girl was hardly a heavy weight as he dashed in the direction of Gustave's cottage.

* * *

**And there's chapter 2- hope it was worth the read and feel free to review! (Not that I'm expecting any, haha.)**

**Next chapter, the horror genre shows its face and drama kicks up. And our "companions" meet at last.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews! I know it's been a while, but I really really want to finish this fic soon. The plot bunnies keep jumping around. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Frankenstein**

* * *

Kristine lovingly caressed her bloated belly, the masked man's music still ringing in her ears. It was unnatural, his skill with the fiddle, terrifying even, and yet, all she wanted was to hear him play again. She hoped Gustave wouldn't make it a habit to bring strange men into their homes. Her husband was sitting by her side, lost in thought and eyes on his hands.

He was upset, she could tell. Gustave was a fickle man when it came to music; there was none more willing to praise others than Daae, but at the end of it all, he would stay up for nights on end, wondering why he could not meet higher standards. Erik's fiddle had that effect, and for an instant, Kristine wondered if he was even human.

There was a sudden knock on their door. Gustave turned toward it, startled, before exchanging glances with his wife. The knock turned into a desperate, furious pounding. Kristine moved, alarmed, but a gesture from Gustave told her to stay put.

Carefully, the man approached the door, and placed his hand on the knob. "Who's there!?" he demanded, intentionally deepening his voice.

"M. Daae!"

Pitched to perfection and as smooth as warm tea. Kristine's brows jumped. She knew that voice- it still hadn't left her mind- Erik's inhumanly beautiful tone.

Without another word, Gustave pulled the door open and Erik stumbled in, heaving and shivering. Kristine paled at the bundle swung across his arms; a girl, stripped bare, and covered in fresh blood lay deathly still in them. Gustave quickly shut the door and motioned for Erik to follow him. By the frantic look in his eyes, Kristine knew he was just as shocked.

Of her own accord, Kristine left her seat on the rocking chair and followed the men, moving past the tight space in their cottage and into the extra room. The bed hadn't been used in years and the window was etched with frost. She hadn't expected to receive a guest in this state. It was surreal.

"Put her here," Gustave commanded, Erik laying the injured girl on the covers with trembling hands.

Kristine's hands flew to her mouth. It was just a child. The girl was bleeding profusely from her torso and between her legs, littered with bruises along her limbs. Ice stuck to her bleached hair and thick lashes, her ashen skin layered with frost. The covers beneath the body were soaked within a matter of seconds.

"Kristine, get some rags and bandages," Gustave directed towards her, "I'm going to get help."

Dumbly, she nodded and rushed off to the washroom. Blindly grabbing at the contents in the cabinet, Kristine uttered words of prayer for the poor child. It was only when she returned to the guest room that she realized Gustave had left her alone with Erik.

Her unease towards the Frenchman may have melded slightly since breakfast, but it had returned stronger than before the moment she lay eyes on the girl. Ignoring the black clad figure, she knelt beside the girl, careful of her own growing child, and began pushing the rag against the tear on the torso. She applied minimum pressure, hoping the bleeding would stem. It was a deep wound.

"It's no use," Erik said calmly, not moving to help.

Perplexed, Kristine glanced at him. Those yellow eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

"She should be dead within minutes."

He was calm, no longer desperate, and staring at his expressionless black mask, she felt a horrible, horrible thought flicker. What if- perhaps- the blood staining his cloak- he had caused the child's condition. Kristine felt faint.

They were alone. She was with child. And he- her breath wasn't coming out.

"_I_ did not do this, if that's what you're thinking," Erik added, almost too quietly.

"I should hope so," she replied with equal lowness. They spoke no more.

* * *

_He_ bent his huge back and sniffed the red snow. Blood, blood and urine. Brushing long dark locks from his face, the creature stared ahead, at the footprints in his shadow, not yet covered with snow.

He had followed the masked man up to this point and quickly fled into the shadows when the latter became suspecting. It was much in the same way he used to torment his _father_. His horrid father. The prints belonged to his companion, the one with the same yellow eyes.

There had been a wounded girl there, one much like Aana. He remembered the men from the morning, the ones carrying the sack which so resembled his face. There may have been a connection.

Stiffly, he followed the prints, noting with faint annoyance that they led to Daae's cottage. If the masked man would gladly commute with a man like Daae, why would he want to speak to a creature like himself?

His steps became stomps. His intentions toward the masked man had not changed. Perhaps a conversation. He arrived at the violinist's dwelling.

Perhaps a bit of a test. Yes. He sneered, sneaking around the back of the wooden home, peeking into the blurry glass. A test was needed, one that would let him know once and for all, whether or not he was truly alone.

Daae's lovely wife was sitting by the dead girl's bedside, holding the still hand and praying. She had such a likeable countenance. The masked man was standing in the corner of the room, almost melting into the shadows, holding his hat in his hands, which _he_ noted, were gloveless.

Skeletal and long, almost yellowish in how pale they were. The woman was agitated- she was afraid of the masked man. That reassured him.

Approaching noises told him to crouch lower. Daae had returned with more guests.

* * *

"She was bleeding when I found her in the snow, only a few steps into the forest," Erik recounted, ignoring the suspicious gazes of the men Gustave brought into the room.

One of them was Daae's friend from the inn, Jorgen, the man with the cheery voice. The other one, a portly male named Frederik, he hadn't seen before.

"And why the mask, sir?" Frederik asked, more than a bit accusingly.

"Because I am so beautiful that you will all lose your wives," Erik retorted. He was sick of their damned questions and the feeling of unease refused to leave his already troubled mind.

Jorgen's frown deepened but before he could give Erik a piece of his mind, Gustave stepped between the men and Erik.

"What my guest hides isn't important. What shall we do about the girl?"

Grunting, Frederik looked at the corpse. "Young child. Fourteen, fifteen- you know her, Jorgen?"

"I don't know. But... I think I've seen her in town a few times. The carpenter's daughter- meek fellow. Poor wretch won't take well to this."

"Gustave, the lot of you did your best. She's gone now. We should get a doctor- I'll get some people to take her to town, then the rest is up to the law." Frederik stroked his square jaw. "Say, you fellows don't think-"

"The monster struck again," Jorgen said quietly.

_Of all the stupidity!_ Erik marched past Gustave and pointed at the girl. "She was assaulted by multiple men. Look at her. These bruises took more than one man to inflict- and her wounds, I'd say some horny bastards had more than their fair share of fun."

His language was coarse and blunt. Good. Erik hoped he had insulted the idiots, idiots who wouldn't dare try anything against him save the sharp question. The men regarded him with agitation, as if wondering how he would know so much from observation.

The rosy hours of Mazenderan had not been complete without countless mutilated corpses for him to inspect. He looked away from them and out the window, at the falling bits of snow and gloomy sky. He had hoped never to see a corpse again.

* * *

_He_ watched Daae and his friends leave the cottage in a hurry, arguing among themselves and casting odd glances back. The masked man and the wife were alone in the cottage. His body tingled with excitement.

He could go in then; he knew his "companion" would not scream at the sight. But the woman- she may prove problematic, and as of yet, he still didn't know how close the masked man felt himself to be with Daae. Judging from what he witnessed behind the glass, they were little more than strangers, and yet the violinist felt the need to defend the masked man.

He was almost envious. Almost. For he knew the answer to all his questions was behind that mask. And there was still the matter of the test. That and he seemed to know who had attacked the unfortunate girl. He knew for sure it was not himself.

Though for a sick moment, he wondered how it would feel if it was... if it had been him standing over Daae's wife, ripping her layers away, crushing her with raw force, taking what was denied him. He roared, disgusted with himself.

* * *

"What was that?" Kristine asked, becoming increasingly jumpy.

"Mlle. Daae, I will check. I doubt it would be good for the child if you caught a chill."

Erik had not planned on speaking to the woman again since her accusation. Of course, he should have expected no more from her or Gustave for that matter. It must have been the cold; it was numbing his senses, making him believe that he had instilled something other than fear.

He needed an excuse to leave Kristine and that animal's cry was more than enough of one. Stepping into the snow, he closed the door silently behind him, and winced at the white glare.

Pulling the hat's brim further over his eyes, Erik began surveying the area. Only gnarled, dead trees and grey shapes were nearby. A woodland critter scurried in the shadows. He walked around the cottage, inspecting every corner.

Crunch.

He had that vague feeling again, ever since he had first settled into that inn. That feeling of being followed. _Erik hates to be followed_. He stood still, holding his breath, and slowly, one hand reached into his cloak, digging into the pockets of his jacket.

Crunch.

His fingers felt the punjab's material just as he was lifted off the ground. Whipping around, his cloak billowing in the flurry, Erik stared at the large dirty hands grabbing his shoulders, inhumanly large. They dug into him, and he could feel each finger leaving a bruise.

The lasso reached out and struck his assailant across the face, leaving a harsh gash. It was the face that made his eyes widen, bulge, burst.

He was staring into a distorted mirror. The figure holding him was twice his size, towering over him, and yet with the same corpse-like visage, the same yellow eyes, the repulsive skin. Strength radiated from the monstrous figure. But it was the sheer familiarity of that face which disarmed him, which left the punjab useless in his numb hands.

Those hands lifted him further, until he felt the sky come towards him, and those other eyes-_ his_ eyes- stare into his core. Erik felt the snow rise and crunch beneath his body as the _other_ slammed him down. The dizzying pain barely registered.

Looking at his grotesque attacker, all he could wonder was _how_.

He was in the nightmare's shadow, the shadow of a thing he had not so feared since childhood, staring into his mother's mirror, begging, begging, begging-

"Who are you?" the other asked, voice deep and guttural.

It was a man.

It was a man with the same curse as himself.

* * *

**Let me know how this fared- lame, worthy, maybe even good? And thanks for reading/reviewing!**

**Decided to end it on a cliffhanger here. So they finally meet, but whether leads to friendship or something worse is up in the air. And is Gustave's town really as innocent as Erik thought? *hint* probably not *hint***


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for the feedback! Some plot finally picks up now. And there's a bit of semi-fluff in here.

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein

* * *

The masked man lay on his back, half sunk in snow, staring up at _him_ with disbelieving eyes. The creature waited for an answer, refusing to break his gaze. He had shown the _other_ his face in full, in all its hideousness, and he would do more if this was not settled then and there.

But the masked man simply stared, his eyes mirroring the creature's own, as if struck mute with terror. _Not terror, recognition_. His cheek stung, where the cord in the other man's hand had struck. And yet he could feel the blood clotting already.

"Who are you?" he asked again, louder. "I must know."

He extended a hand toward the fallen man. The other made no movement, but the yellow eyes flicked, and he soon felt that bony hand in his own. Even gloved, the fingers felt like they would snap the second he touched them. He pulled the masked man up.

And for the first time, he finally heard the masked man speak.

"A traveler." It was a voice dipped in honey and laced with velvet. Had he ever heard one so sublime! Two simple words, two perfect words- perhaps that was why Daae was so drawn to him.

De Lacey. The first man who could have shown him kindness; the old man, in his blindness could have changed his entire being with a simple word, but Frankenstein's son had been too rash. De Lacey rarely plagued him now that he had resigned to reject the human race. But those two words! If he had approached De Lacey with this man's voice, perhaps acceptance would have come without a single pause.

The hand in his palm tensed, the other sensing his aggravation. He let go of the masked man's hand and the two continued to exchange stares.

"That is not the answer I wanted."

There was a wary edge when the masked man spoke again, "Then what do you want?"

"Tell me why you hide behind the mask."

The other pair of golden eyes narrowed to slits as the man tightened his grip on the lasso. "_You know_."

"I know about the girl. If you wish to know, follow me and I shall tell you all I know."

"I do not take well to being commanded."

Both drawn to their full heights, he still towered over the masked man, surpassing him in strength and prowess. One would be the master and the other would follow. There would be no compromise.

_You cannot fight me_. He said nothing, gaze trained on the masked man's hands. The other silently tucked the lasso back into his cloak before bending to pick up his displaced hat. Their eyes remained on one another the entire time.

"Come."

The masked man nodded. _He_ took a step towards the winter woods, only then noticing with faint surprise that they had been conversing in French the entire time. In his haste to speak to the other man, his ironic mother tongue had let loose. The masked man spoke it flawlessly, that language he so loved and loathed.

* * *

Gustave sighed, wiping a smear of frost from his mustache. He wondered how long the carpenter's daughter had been lost in the snow. If any of them had arrived earlier, then perhaps there would not be another death. The poor man was crying in his shop, being consoled by Jorgen and his remaining children, all too young to understand the fate of their sister.

The sky was darkening, its bleak grey tinged with purple. It wouldn't be long before all was black, save the snow itself. Frederik seemed to notice his growing discomfort. The other man put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't take it too hard, weren't nothing to be done."

"I know."

He shivered. "Frederik, sometimes I wonder- what if it really was the monster- perhaps this really is haunted."

Frederik said nothing, both men staring at the villagers passing by, eager to go indoors before the dusk took its toll. The monster's form was still in Gustave's mind, a blur he once considered to be a fevered nightmare. That must have been it- he must have dreamed that the creature had attempted to accost him. But he remembered the smashed violin. Perhaps there was some truth to the horrors that the mongers spoke of.

"Gustave, I say this as a friend, don't leave Kristine alone."

The words felt like lead. He wouldn't know what to do should anything happen to his wife.

* * *

Erik knew a struggle would be useless. Damn the weather. He hoped the large man couldn't see his form trembling beneath the cloak. They were a safe distance from Daae's home, surrounded by nothing but bare trees and a frozen stream covered with snow.

"I am no man," the other said, his gaze intense.

_He has a nose_. Erik said nothing. The voice was deep and throaty, as if the hulk had damaged his throat somehow. There were stitches on the area, after all...

"I suppose in order to obtain your trust, I must disclose some of my own secrets. I have never spoken this tale to anyone, my friend, for I do wish that we can address each other as such."

He was eloquent, and in spite of the nightmarish scene that Erik found himself in, he wanted to hear this tale. Friend. He had none. Not anymore.

"You see me as you would see a corpse. Long ago, I do not count the years, a young German tried to play god. When I speak of him, only the bitterest of anger and sorrow allows."

The speaker's breathing grew rapid, fuming. "From the bodies of dead men, he strung them together, to be proportional and magnificent. He succeeded, and this is the result, this hideous countenance. When I first opened these eyes, I sought acceptance from my father and was only scorned in return."

An owl hooted. Erik felt his guard drop, as an emotion he hated returned, the second time in one day: empathy. This man, this creature, this wretch told a tale too wild to be believed and yet so close to his own childhood, so painfully believable, so painfully wrought with emotion.

"Go on," he said quietly.

"He abandoned me... I was left to fend for myself, unaware of my appearance, unaware of anything. The world is cruel, my friend, and I learned firsthand. Much abuse have I suffered at the hands of men. For a time, I thought benevolence could win them over. I tried my hardest to win the love of the most virtuous of French cottagers."

He laughed, a sad dry sound. "Even now, I still call them that. These memories are too painful to speak of- perhaps another time. But know that my appearance drove me away, and I turned to cruelty for lack of love. I sought to undo my creator... to destroy his happiness."

The man's voice was breaking, as if forcing back tears. "I did. I won our battle. But it was only then that I knew I had gained nothing. I tried to die but this man, his name was Victor Frankenstein and I shall never be able to call him father, had made me better than the race. I was more durable than I could ever imagine, stronger, and all for naught. There is no use for a strong body if it is one like this, one as wicked as this."

"I wandered for a time, searching for a better path. There was none. I came here four months ago, where a man's music saved me. It was here I fell in love. And it is here that I first saw you, my friend."

He understood the man. Erik understood. The tale was too strikingly familiar and horrific- he believed every word. Every single word. His heart went out to the man, an action he had hoped never to do again.

"I beseech you, prove to me that I am not alone, that I do have a place in this world. My companion, take my friendship and you shall be my first."

Perhaps this man saw the sympathy in his eyes. Erik did not know. He did not consider himself a compassionate man and rarely had he pitied anyone other than himself. Perhaps this man was looking for the wrong friend- two monsters would do the world no good-

_The daroga had complimented him. The daroga had offered him tea. The daroga had laughed with him._

The daroga had wished Erik would change. Of his own accord, Erik lifted the man's large hand and shook it, with a grip more forceful than he had ever intended.

"What is your name, my friend?" he asked.

"I do not have one."

He smiled beneath the mask. "Another thing we have in common. The name Erik found me."

"Erik... Adam. I prefer the name Adam."

* * *

Gustave knew something was terribly wrong as he walked through the forest, struggling to see in the dark, even with Frederik at his side, as if the demons of the night had finally come out. He had always believed in the myths and Gustave knew for certain something beyond the natural was happening.

The demon who killed the girl. Yes, there was a demon at work.

"Do you hear that?"

Gustave listened. There was a faint chanting barely in earshot. Something about it bothered him. The voices were in unison, chanting a phrase in rhyme.

"Forest spirits?"

"No." Frederik's eyes grew panicked. "People. I hear them. This doesn't feel right, Gustave. We should go the other way."

Gustave nodded, following his friend's lead, the chanting growing dim in his ears. It was odd. He hadn't heard the chanting before this night and he dared not venture to find out when it was just him and Frederik. He was sure it was no holy chant.

Forest sprites. Imps. Demons. Monsters.

* * *

Erik had revealed nothing about himself and "Adam" was touched by the man's sincerity. He had not expected to win Erik's friendship so easily nor had he expected to see such emotion reflected in the man's eyes.

They were standing by the frozen stream for what felt like hours, saying nothing and looking into the pitch sky. Perhaps he would not need to test Erik after all. Perhaps his... friend would reveal all to him in time.

Erik shook beside him, the trembles becoming increasingly frequent. Adam frowned. Was the man ill? If they really were of the same kind, ailment would not plague Erik's health. He wouldn't dwell on it.

His eyes were still glistening from tears that he had shed over the man's acceptance. Years, lifetimes, he had waited for it and finally it had arrived. His companion was not the bride he had once demanded. It was the man standing by him, without a trace of fear or loathing, only the utmost understanding.

"That girl you found. There was a group of men this morning, carrying masks in my image, and stalking about the woods."

Erik nodded. He knew what happened then.

"As reluctant as I am to do so, we must part ways now."

"Goodbye, good man."

He swore the masked man was smiling. Erik turned and walked back the way they had come, seemingly perfectly accustomed to the darkness, his cloak moving with each brisk movement, his body struggling not to sway. Ill.

Adam watched him move, repeating those words in his head, in Erik's horribly smooth voice. Good man. Good man.

* * *

**Thanks for clicking! And reviews are always welcome!**

**So at this point Erik and the creature seem to be on the verge of becoming good friends... except Erik didn't tell him that he doesn't plan to stay in Scandinavia. The Erik in this fic is primarily Leroux-based, which might look odd because of how he's acting so far, but don't worry- I've got a plan to set him "straight." **

**Next time: Gustave makes some disturbing discoveries and we find out why Erik's been feeling so cold (Adam was right)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for the reviews! Hope it was worth the wait.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein**

* * *

Kristine draped a cloth over the girl's body and crossed herself. It wouldn't be right to gaze at the corpse. Bad luck, as mother had said. She hoped the child could find peace in the afterlife. She rubbed her belly. _Hush dear_.

It was nightfall and Erik still hadn't returned. Not for the first time, she wondered if he was running away, as many criminals were wont to do. But he had left the violin, the case still covered in dry blood. Gustave and his companions hadn't returned either, though she was used to their late outings. Her husband had once expressed a desire to play in traveling fairs. He was in his prime, stricken with wanderlust and still stuck in their dreary winter village. With their child underway, Kristine had a feeling they would be stuck for a good while longer.

What if there had been something out there. Perhaps Erik was...

No, Kristine wasn't one to think such morbid thoughts. There was a knocking on the door. A little too brashly, she immediately rushed towards it, relieved that she would no longer be alone. She opened it. _Speak of the devil_.

"Erik?"

"Mme. Daae._ I do apologize_."

"I don't speak French."

He stared at her, eyes unfocused behind the mask. Erik shook his head lightly. He spoke again, in Swedish, "I apologize. I was called away on short notice."

He was covered in flakes of snow. Snow. Standing in the cold would do neither of them good, especially for her child. She ushered him in and shut the door. Erik approached the fireplace and stood before the flames, his shadow long and twisted. Water dripped on the floor.

"I'll take your cloak."

"Of course."

Kristine took the cloak and hat from him, not daring to wonder about the sparse hair on his head. How old was he? She didn't think on it too long. Orange shadows flickered against his black mask. His eyes shut.

"You're very thin."

"I know."

"Are you hungry, Erik? We'll be having dinner when Gustave gets back." She hung up his articles and wondered what possessed her to lend him another invitation. It didn't matter- Gustave would have done the same, bless his heart.

"I haven't been this full in a very long time," he replied tiredly.

As glad as she was for company, Kristine wasn't entirely comfortable. Without Gustave to chatter, she found herself observing every uncanny detail on the Frenchman. He really was horribly thin and the skeletal fingers reminded her of a spider's legs. Even his cloak smelled lightly of...

Death.

* * *

Gustave and Frederik approached his cottage. A nice bowl of stew would clear his mind of the omen in the forest. The girl's corpse was still in his home and it wouldn't do to house death for so long. He sighed. Jorgen and the carpenter would arrive later; the body belonged with her father. He all but sprinted towards the door.

He knocked loudly, Frederik catching up with him. His ears were greeted with Kristine's scream before the door opened.

"Gustave," she said, eyes bulging, "thank God you're back!"

Gustave hurriedly stepped into the cottage, pulling Frederik along, Kristine tugging at his arm. The door shut and Frederik bolted it as the couple stared at one another. He assessed her, seized by panic.

"Kristine, I heard you cry. Are you alright? Is it the child? What-"

Kristine shook her head, attention elsewhere. Gustave's eyes went to the source. A figure was clumsily slumped on the ground, the face masked, and black in the eye holes. Gustave stepped past his wife and dropped by Erik's side.

"What happened?"

"He didn't try anything, did he?" Frederik demanded, approaching them with caution, Kristine taking her place by Gustave.

She shook her head again. "He was fine a moment ago. He fainted. I don't know why."

Gustave grabbed the still man's hand, and nearly dropped it. It was cold, just as lifeless as the dead girl. "Not dead." He glanced at the mask. It might be best if they removed it- his hand inched toward it, just when those yellow eyes flickered back.

"No," they seemed to say.

"Erik?"

"_M. Daae_." He said it softly. Gustave placed his hands below the man's shoulders and struggled to lift him up, disconcerted by the amount of bone poking back. Erik shifted and stifled a groan, as if finally waking up. He stood up, shaking in Gustave's pull, and broke free, staggering somewhat.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine. Thank you, I- I should be on my way. I should apologize for the inconvenience," Erik shot back, words spoken so quickly Gustave nearly missed them. The masked man held a hand to his temple and winced.

"Surely you'll stay for dinner."

"No, no- I've imposed on you too long." He stumbled about dizzily. "Now where is that violin?"

"I'll get it." Kristine's footsteps faded.

"Erik, you wouldn't know anything about noises in the woods, would you?" Frederik asked, more of a statement than a question. Gustave wasn't sure where that conclusion came from.

"Woods?" Erik leaned against a wall, trembling lightly. "Oh, the woods. Ah, yes. Just animals."

"No chanting?"

"Why ever would there be chanting? Unless you believe in nonsense. All nonsense, today. Nonsense."

"I don't trust you, mask."

"What a loss."

Gustave was about to intervene before one of them started throwing punches when Kristine returned with Erik's case. The man left the wall and took it from her with a mumbled "thank you." Gustave followed him as he began donning his cloak.

"I could go with you, Erik. The inn's not far, but still quite a walk-"

"You've done enough, M. Daae. I do appreciate your hospitality."

Erik stood by the door, waiting for Gustave to show him out. The latter wondered whether or not it would be appropriate to comment on the violin. Given the events of the day, he decided against it. Gustave opened the door and bid farewell.

* * *

Adam. He had never had the chance to properly use that name, except with Aana. Dear Aana. The creature wandered, feeling a blossoming happiness that he hoped would never leave. The logical part of his mind told him he needed to proceed. He needed to ensure Erik's loyalty, his final companionship.

He would never make the mistakes of the past again.

There was something beneath his foot, that in his haste, he didn't notice. Adam looked down. It was a body, marred from head to toe, in some kind of symmetrical pattern, the blood dying the snow pink. Around it were wooden posts, tied to hay stacks. He knelt by the body. It was dead.

The tiny thing was just a child, younger than the victim Erik came upon. It was stark naked, mutilated flesh covered in burns. Burns. Charred remains of some unidentifiable object were scattered in the snow. The whole thing was too coordinated to be coincidental.

The child was male.

* * *

Erik wrapped the blankets tighter around himself, teeth chattering beyond his control. He was cold, so horribly cold. The snow was piling up behind his dirty window. So damn cold and tired. The wind was whistling, loud in his ears and pounding head.

Was it night? Or morning? He couldn't tell. He just wanted to leave. Perhaps he had dreamed the creature, no, man named Adam up. Perhaps he had collapsed in Daae's cottage longer than he realized. He hated the inn.

Was Adam real? He had seen the tears in his unnatural eyes, seen the man practically break from joy when he, Erik, the living corpse, had accepted the man's plead for friendship. He, the living corpse, the shah-in-shah's pet demon, the devil incarnate. It felt... good.

He glanced at the bruises on his shoulders, ten large marks blackening and purple against his chalky skin. They were sore, horribly sore. He almost smiled, if it wasn't for the cold. Adam was real. Erik was real.

Too real to be true.

_The bars were large, casting shadows that threatened to trap him forever. He crouched further, trying to ignore the confines of the cage. It shook with each movement. Chanting._

_Come one! Come all! See the Living Corpse! The crack of a whip. He shook, naked and bleeding. It hurt. He screamed. Scorpions on each side, the sun's rays slicing past the shadows and burning what little flesh he head. He melted, covered in fire and bugs. _

_Their faces laughed at him. They turned away, disgusted. The sultana clapped her hands in glee. The noose around his neck. She pulled. Laughing. Laughing. Screaming! Screaming! Scr-_

Erik awoke to the pounding of the door, a shout caught in his dry mouth. He pushed the covers from his trembling body and hugged his torso, feeling a bout of nausea. He had to get away from the room, before the vomit came out. He was wet with cold sweat. Placing the mask on his face, Erik rolled out of bed, fumbling for a clean shirt. The pounding continued.

He staggered toward the door. "Who is it!?"

"I- it's me, Gustave."

The nausea subsided. He didn't plan on doing anything but lying in bed all day. He was much too tired and much too sore. Too damned cold. Steadying himself, Erik took a painful breath and opened the door. It must have been morning.

Gustave offered a sheepish smile, tugging at his own coat. "May I come in?"

"Why?" His legs were threatening to give way.

The other man's face darkened. "I don't know who else to speak with. Please, Erik."

"Fine."

Erik stepped aside for Gustave and shut the door, feeling as if they were being watched. He glanced at the window- no, too much snow.

"I heard you screaming. Are you-"

"Fine! It was a nightmare, I'm sure all men get them."

Gustave shed his coat and hung it on the back of a rickety chair, looking at Erik for permission to sit. The latter nodded before taking his own place on the bed's side.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you get dressed."

"Hm."

"Are you injured?"

Why would he be- Erik looked at himself then. He had left his collar unbuttoned from the night before, a few of the bruises clear as day. "It's nothing. What did you want to say?"

Daae twiddled his thumbs, as if thinking about where to begin. "Last night, me and Frederik heard noises in the forest on the path home. Chanting. I went back to the scene this morning, when no one was there. Some of the woodsmen found a body there, a dead boy. You've seen the girl. This boy was younger, and worse off. It looked like-"

The man looked sick. "They cut every inch of him with a knife. There was a pattern to it, almost. And all sorts of objects around him. It was organized. Someone was torturing these children."

"I'm sure there are worse in the world." Erik would know.

"I don't know why anyone would do this. Frederik thinks it was a group of men. Some of the villagers say it was the monster in the woods, but this seems- I don't know, Erik, this seems more man-made."

"Why are you telling me?" He was shivering again.

"I asked around. Frederik did too. They- some of our neighbors didn't respond. Oddly- I would think this kind of thing would have more of a response! They're being horribly quiet about it. I even suggested we call in the law. Some of the men reacted strongly against it. We don't aggravate too many people here. It's too small."

Gustave shook his head to and fro. "I think someone in the village is doing this. I don't know why."

"A cult. I've seen a few in my lifetime."

Why was he telling Gustave this? Perhaps he was more ill than he thought. He would be out of the village as soon as the snow let out. _What of Adam?_ He pushed the thought from his head.

"What should I do? We can't let this go on!"

_We?_ Erik sighed. "Observe another night. Are the victims special in some way?"

"Up til now they've all been young women, if you count the monster's rumors."

"If it's a group, there must be motivation."

"I would ask you to come with me, Erik. I know it's a huge favor, given all your... misfortune yesterday, but you seem to know better than us. You were right about the girl. It wasn't one man, it was several."

The man was sincere. It shone in his eyes and speech. Quite frankly, it made Erik want to turn away, but Gustave did make a point. People were dying, in methods he had hoped to have escaped for good. The daroga would surely have helped.

"I'll come."

* * *

Adam skulked past the inn quietly, having seen the exchange between the violinist and his _friend_. His anger was muffled- it was something he had never felt up to that moment. Possessiveness. He didn't want Daae near Erik.

Or did he not want Erik near Daae? It vexed him that this still bothered him. He trusted Erik not to shun him. He had guessed at what lay behind the mask and he was sure it was something that barred him from befriending men like Daae.

But if Erik did not care for Daae, why would he agree to help the man. A long time ago, Adam would have chalked it up to good will, but he knew for a fact now that no such thing existed. There was something bitter about the masked man, something Adam was sure he had cracked and Daae had not.

Regardless, he knew he was being framed for heinous crimes, crimes his_ father_ would have decried. Not for the first time, Adam wondered if Erik too had a father.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Reviews are more than welcome.**

**I hope this kind of lives up to the horror genre or at least drama. Next time: the companions meet again, some more disturbing details about the so-called cult, Erik gets sicker, and more Adam angst.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for reviewing! I hope this was worth the wait, for everyone interested. We're getting a little closer to the climax now.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein**

* * *

"The boy's father wouldn't speak," Gustave rambled, "I don't want to accuse anyone without evidence but..."

Erik was only half listening, eyes intent on the charred stakes in the snow. The blood from before must have been covered by the snow. He hadn't been this cold since his time in Russia, and even then, he hadn't felt the need to collapse with each step. The mask felt too heavy for his face and his head was about to roll off his shoulders.

The scene was disturbing, confirming their suspicions. The wooden posts were placed at exact intervals, in an almost holy way. If this was torture simply for its sake, the victims wouldn't come one by one. They wouldn't be so similar, so methodical. Erik narrowed his eyes, struggling to blink past the dots in his vision. If what Gustave and his friends had seen and heard was correct, then there were a number of men involved.

"Are they religious?" he asked abruptly.

"Our village is mostly Christian."

Erik made a sound of acknowledgment before circling the scene once more. The haystacks were scattered, as if there had been more before a fire was lit. He remembered the gypsy rituals, ranging from elaborate to simple, some involving bonfires. _Rituals_.

This was certainly not of gypsy influence, nor Christian from what he could tell. _Or Muslim_. He bit the memory back.

"Whoever is responsible for this- they came up with this on their own. It was a ritual."

"Are you sure?"

"If you choose not to believe me, I shall leave."

Gustave fumbled for words. "No, no- I- I'm sorry. It's all a bit much to take. Erik, it's been going on for some time I think. At least a year since some girls went missing. Their families were quiet in their mourning."

The man rubbed his hands together and let out a shaky breath. "But I'm not so sure anymore."

"Surfaces are hard to read, M. Daae."

Erik turned around, finished with the task at last. He admitted that he wouldn't be able to last much longer. "Some masks are more obvious than others." It was a dark mutter that Gustave may or may not have heard.

"We could go see Frederik."

Erik scoffed. "I'd rather not. You tell him what I said. There's nothing you can do but wait for more detail- it is _your_ home after all."

Gustave nodded. "I take it you'll be going back to the inn now?"

"Yes."

"I'd like to say thank you for-"

Erik waved it off and Gustave once more trailed off, unsure how to act around the other man for the umpteenth time. The men left the area in silence, a bird fluttering in the distance.

* * *

Adam walked quietly, careful to maneuver himself between the trees, though he was sure no one would see him. The weather was getting worse by the day and he had no intention of getting caught in it now that he finally had something greater to occupy his mind with. Hunger gnawed at him, but it was a sensation he could bear for the time being.

Something had to be done about his new companion. He could never go back to that aching loneliness, now that he knew what it was to be acknowledged, to be befriended. He needed to Erik to desire his companionship.

The other task he needed to complete was rid the world of his impersonators. They would pay dearly for mocking him.

There was a dark figure kneeling in the snow a little ways ahead, a shivering lump of black. Curious, Adam approached it, keeping his huge body out of sight. He let his guard down when he saw the shape of a mask.

"Erik." The word carried through and a yellow eye confirmed his greeting. Stepping out from behind a dying tree, Adam stood before him.

"It's you," Erik said, with a vague hint of surprise.

"Are you ill?"

"Perhaps." With a stifled groan, the masked man rose to his feet unsteadily. "The sooner I leave this dreaded place, the better."

_Leave_. Erik seemed unaware of the frown that was pulling at the creature's face. He felt a tight surge of anger overwhelm him. No, he would not let his temper break the friendship it had taken him so hard to earn. He would not be mad at Erik.

"_I_ cannot leave just yet," Adam said instead, "I have enemies to investigate, as you have probably learned."

A flare of interest showed in the other man's eyes. "You've seen it too? The boy?"

"I have. I do not remember if I've told you, but that group of men I saw, they had a mask with them. A mask in my visage. What crimes I have done, I will not lie to you- they are wretched, but I assure you, I was not responsible for these murders."

Erik seemed to be contemplating the meaning of his words, a little too slowly for the man who seemed so sharp the day before. "When did you arrive, Adam? Here?"

He never kept track of the days, but for a time, Aana had occupied his thoughts, given him some vain hope of waiting. "Six months ago, perhaps a little longer."

"Someone must have seen you."

"A few did." Some he silenced.

"It could have been a year... yes, the women, the children, ah, ah, Daae was right in what he told Erik," the masked man muttered, his words turning into strained babbles, "Erik was right... Daae... the babe will be in trouble- oh, who gives a damn, not Erik, no, not-"

This curious pattern of speech left Adam unprepared. Something was wrong with Erik, in the mind or body, he did not know. It might have been both. In his creator's last days, he was prone to these incoherent speeches. He himself may have had an explosive temper, an almost inhuman level of emotion, but he had never felt madness. Coldly, he thought he was incapable.

Madness, delirium, symptoms that were oh so painfully human.

_Daae_. Again, he felt that flicker of rage. He hated the violinist then, loathed him.

Erik staggered and swayed, nearly hitting the ground once more when Adam caught him by the arms. The masked man's breaths came out in ragged gasps, those yellow eyes shut, his body convulsing.

Were they as similar as he had first thought? Adam crushed the thought. He would not be so quick to cast aside the one companionship he ever had.

Thinking about how to approach his goals, the larger man set Erik by a tree and sat beside him. "Are you dying?"

"No... I don't know- Adam, you're real- the daroga will be shocked to know, shocked..."

He was talking in a sleepy haze, already lost in a world of dreams. Adam listened to him speak, wondering if he could find out more about the man this way.

"Daroga, you boring fart... that's what he was you see, Erik was always the fun one... oh daroga, Erik was right- no, you were right, oh..."

Erik shuddered, silenced at last, leaving Adam with still no knowledge. Daroga. It seemed to be a name Erik was terribly attached to. He wondered if it was another man, a man like Daae.

"Adam, are you going to kill them?" Erik asked quietly, his words still feverish and likely unconscious.

"No," he lied.

"Good, good- Erik does not kill anymore... Adam should try the same..."

The creature watched his companion steadily return to the land of sleep. He considered those words, feeling his hands twitch with aggravation.

* * *

Erik woke to the blur of a fire in front of him. Everything was stiff and frozen. The sky was taking on a shade of pink, and his head pounded furiously. His last memory was of conversing with Adam, earning a few new clues about the cult, before everything morphed into a swirl. He stood up, pressing heavily against the tree behind him.

"A- Adam?" he asked, not having the strength to go beyond a whisper.

There was no reply. He assumed the man was responsible for the fire. Taking a few more steps toward it, Erik hugged his arms, wishing his cloak was thicker. He recalled hearing his own thoughts. He hoped he hadn't revealed too much to Adam, though he doubted his friend had anyone to confide them to.

His mind was whirl of memories and theories as he began the disoriented walk back to town, falling into the snow with every few steps. If they had started the rituals after seeing Adam, then they must have been waiting for a similar sign. Somehow, the sight of a "demon" had given them reason to start whatever it was they were doing.

Or was it a living corpse? Were they trying to do something involving the occult? For protection or a pact? Or something he was yet to suspect?

He stumbled, feeling a sharp pain in his head as it hit a protruding stone. Erik lifted himself off the ground, the snow before him decked with specks of blood. He pressed shaky fingers to the side of his head, only to have them come back stained with red. Retrieving his hat, he stood up, blinking uncomfortably as the blood trickled into his eye.

Erik tugged at the strings of his mask, pulling it off just in time to bend over and vomit. There was nothing for him to throw up and he ended up coughing water on the ground. Teeth chattering, he wiped his face with the cloak before replacing the mask sloppily.

The cult only seemed to go after young women and children. People like Daae were safe. Yes, Daae was safe. He himself was safe. Frederik, Jorgen, even Adam. Something bothered him.

They started with girls, ones old enough to bear children... his vision spotted and cleared... and now they were going after children, regardless of gender. His head stung.

Ignoring the blur that his world had become, Erik walked on, leaning on the trees for support. Gustave's wife was pregnant. She was the only pregnant woman he had seen so far. Perhaps there were more.

Kristine was in danger, of what nature he had yet to figure out. He would warn Daae in the morning.

* * *

Gustave spooned the last of his food in silence, not bothering to acknowledge Kristine's questions. Erik's words ran in loops over his mind. Anyone was a suspect at this point. Frederik didn't seem like one, at least.

But what could there to be gain from all of this? He slammed the bowl down.

"Gustave!"

"Sorry."

He still hadn't purchased a new violin and they were running low on money. The rising danger in their village troubled him, especially with a child on the way. Kristine touched his hand and he did his best to smile.

"Gustave, I've been meaning to speak with you about something. I didn't tell you yesterday, when they discovered... the body... because it seems so silly, but I- I knew that boy."

Gustave froze. "What?"

"I knew him." Kristine bit her lower lip in agitation, checking their window to make sure the evil spirits were at rest. "The poor child, he never told me his name, I think it was Bernhard."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"It was a few weeks ago. When we were in the village- you were in the tavern. I was finishing our shopping and he was playing. He seemed very sad, Gustave. But he noticed the swelling... he-he came to me and we talked. He said he hoped it, our child, wouldn't become a myling. Then his father called."

"A- a _myling_?"

"I know it's terrible to think of, but he was so scared when he said it."

Gustave stood up and wrapped his arms around his wife. Suddenly everything made just a little more sense, though he wished it didn't.

* * *

It was some time after he was sure Erik had stumbled away that Adam returned to the spot, thankful that he had the sense to start the fire. His companion was not built nearly as strong as himself. He turned back and headed toward the clearing, the spot where he had first discovered the corpse.

There was a man there, his face shrouded by a hood, kneeling by each post, holding his arms toward the sky. The man stood up when he was done and took an object out of his cloak, a glistening silver thing. Adam could see the stains on the knife. It hadn't been cleaned. He watched with morbid fascination as the man brought the thing to his own exposed arm and let a string of blood drip in a circle on the snow. The man walked, spraying his blood over the hay and wood.

Adam stalked toward him. So this was one of them- one of his dear enemies. He walked behind the man with a snarl, startling the other. Before the man had a chance to retaliate, his wrist was bent back, the knife flying away.

Adam crushed it, listening with indifference to the accompanying cries of pain. He brought his huge hands over the man's windpipe next, squeezing until the man stopped flailing, until the life had left him.

He dropped the body on the ground, satisfied, and kicked the hood away. He stared into the pale bluing face of Jorgen, a man he knew to be one of Daae's favorite companions.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Reviews are extremely welcome, of course.**

**Hope that was enjoyable. As for the mystery of the mylings, I personally find them very creepy, and because Gustave's going to have to explain what they are to Erik, I'm going to leave those of you who aren't familiar with them in the dark about what they are for right now.**

**Just a funny reminder that Erik's only been in this place for about 3-4 days, and all this has happened.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the long wait! Again, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. I promise that this chapter is taking us toward the climax.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein. Mylings are public domain, not that I want to own them.**

* * *

_No! No! The serpents curled around his waist. Their faces laughed. They screamed. He felt the blood trickle down his back. He gasped- he gasped- the flames rolled away and there was nothing left but the harsh sound of his breath..._

Erik awoke with a low moan, convulsing in the sheets, and wet with sweat. His breath came out sharply, the air struggling to enter his lungs. The pain in his head hadn't subsided and he was sure the gash along his temple was bleeding once more. He doubled over and wretched on the floorboards.

Shaking, he brought a hand to the cloth around his head and pulled it back, seeing blurs of red on his skin. It was just a dream. He didn't remember how long he had been sleeping, when he had last taken any food, any water. Days, hours, minutes.

He felt a savage bout of coughing. Enough. Enough.

It was morning and he needed to see Gustave. He left the bed dizzily, the world coming at him in waves. Erik resisted the urge to vomit yet again, feeling stale and disgusting. _It fits a creature like yourself_. Yes, yes it did. But every moment spent was a moment wasted. Would the daroga ever forgive him if he let Daae's family die?

No. No.

* * *

Kristine patted her stomach once more, cooing a lullaby at the moving child. "What should we name you dear?"

In spite of the dark events that transpired over the past week, the thought of her child was enough to keep her content. Gustave would find means for money and the three of them would settle, content and loved. As the womb grew, she fantasized of little boys with her husband's eyes and girls with soft locks. Acke? Beata? Gustave? Kristina?

Perhaps they would give it a more exotic name. Christine.

She smiled. Naming the child after herself seemed vain- no, it was just a fantasy. She would leave the decision up to Gustave. There was a dull knocking on the cottage door, followed by the sound of Gustave's footsteps and various fussy greetings. From the room she shared with her husband, Kristine heard little of the conversation.

"Erik-!"

She froze, mildly panicked. _He_ was back again? She shook her doubts away- Gustave certainly liked the man well enough. She crept towards the bedroom door and listened closely.

"Your head-"

"-Nothing. I have a disturbing theory to sh-"

A muffled noise. Gustave's yelp.

"Sit down- my man, you're shaking. Should I-"

"No! M. Daae- M. Daae, the cult. I know what they want. It's a vague idea, a preposterous idea, but it fills me with such dread!"

More whispers. Kristine strained to hear.

"The child who they... murdered, warned Kristine of mylings. Said he hoped our child wouldn't turn into one... Erik, I think they're trying to create mylings."

"My- lings?"

Gustave sucked in a breath. He had always hated to speak of the dark ones.

"Spirits of children, unbaptized and abandoned. They yearn to rest in sacred ground- they climb onto the backs of travelers and force them to cemeteries. It's happened to my grandfather before; he was lucky to have survived-"

"That's ludicrous! Drivel!" Coughing.

"Please! I speak the truth... they grow, they become heavy, and their victim dies if he can't make it to hallowed ground in time. I- I don't know why anyone would want to make more of these monsters, they live for vengeance. We've lived here for almost a decade- I thought I understood this town. Perhaps- perhaps I was wrong..."

Kristine heard nothing. She could barely hear her own breaths.

Erik spoke at last. "No, M. Daae, no... no. They want to _summon_ those things- mylings. They go after young women, children, all of it points to some form of appeasement. Sacrifice. But why would they want to do this? No- Erik thinks- I think, he thinks- I-"

Erik rambled some more, slipping into various languages she didn't understand. Something was terribly wrong.

"-pardon me. I think they want the mylings? Yes, those, to help them in some way."

Coughing.

"They're coming for your wife, M. Daae."

Kristine's hands shot over her stomach. No. No. No. She had feared this from the very start. No.

No.

She shuddered, feeling the room grow ten times darker.

"Erik..."

"M. Daae, keep an eye on her. You are not a man who deserves this misfortune nor does she..._ please_."

More hushed whispers. Feeling rather faint, Kristine stepped away from the door and fell back on their bed. She believed Erik. She believed every dark word that came out of his mouth.

She heard nothing more, save for the sound of Erik leaving. Gustave entered the room and buried his head in her shoulder. She stayed in his embrace for as long as she could count.

* * *

Adam blew away a layer of frost from the door. He entered the cottage moodily, yellow eyes searching for signs of intrusion. None. He didn't know whether to be elated or disappointed.

_Adam should try the same_. Erik baffled him- was he truly the companion the creature had sought for so long? He felt bitter brooding over it. Adam stared out the window. It would be time to hunt soon; he could survive without sustenance longer than most but even he needed nourishment from time to time. A thousand curses on Frankenstein.

Aana had claimed to be a friend, had provided so much that made him weep, and in the end, she had only been horrified to see his face. He had strangled her in anger. Always anger. He mourned Aana once more. She was an innocent. The deaths Daae was so concerned about were innocents.

There was a monster among the villagers. And for once, he realized, it was not himself.

He had been searching for clues about the supposed cult, if only for Erik's sake. Strange man! But the satisfying death of Jorgen had been impulsive- he did not have the chance to ask for more details. No, his savage nature took over once more. Frustrated, Adam clenched his nails so tight the blood dripped down his palms.

If Jorgen was a murderer, what did that make Daae? Was Erik the only innocent in all this?

He had an ultimatum to offer the man soon. Too many days had gone by with no new change. Tonight. Tonight.

* * *

The beating of drums in his ears. Darkness.

A pain in the back of his head. The door opening. A thud.

Gustave lay on the floor, staring upwards at shadows that passed, at leather faces and sinister hands.

Blood.

_"They're coming for your wife."_

Kristine.

No.

* * *

He saw Erik moving slowly down the snowy trail, shivering in his cloak and stopping every few paces to adjust his hat. The wind was tugging at the man, pushing him like a marionette, and littering his black clothing with snow. Adam held a hand to the hood over his head and stepped out of the trees en route to Daae's cottage.

_How predictable_.

He pushed the bitterness back. "My friend," he said, louder than intended.

Erik stopped in his tracks as Adam moved forward, stopping mere steps from him. "Bonjour," the masked man greeted before another cough escaped him. He clutched at the violin case in his hands.

"It's quite late," Adam stated, staring up at the bleak sky.

They had met on a night like this, he remembered. For the first time in his horrid existence, he had been accepted on a night like this. It greatly pained him to have to ask.

"Ah yes, I think it would be most beneficial to sell this-" he gestured at the case "-to the violinist. I plan to leave town in the morrow."

Leave.

"Alone?"

Cough. Cough. "Yes."

Without so much as a thought for the connection he was so sure they had. _My companion, why?_

"Erik, come with me. We have nothing in this world, nothing but one another. You, of all creatures I have had the misfortune of crossing paths with, understand this solitude like no other."

He stalked towards the other man, watching eagerly as Erik's eyes widened with emotion.

"Let us wander together."

Cough. Huff. Adam held his breath.

"I-"

He stepped closer.

"I can't."

Erik must have seen the hurt in his eyes for he quickly approached Adam of his own accord. "I still have ambitions, dear Adam. I'm not ready to give it all up just yet. I have no say in what you do, my friend, but I- _I_ cannot wander."

His father. The cottagers. The villagers. Aana. The Finn. Daae.

And now Erik.

Rejected. Spurned. The word why? never even reached his head. Betrayal. He was losing control.

"A- Adam?"

No. He couldn't break now.

"I'm sorry. You could come with me- Paris, Belgium, places of beauty-"

"And what does beauty have for the likes of us?" he spat.

"Adam-"

"There is nothing there for us!" he roared, "Nothing! Do you think I am happy to wander? That I would not rather be like Daae, a normal man with a normal wife, who wins the affections of all he comes across!"

His shadow loomed over the other man.

"Adam! Calm yourself man!"

"His friend is among your beloved cult,_ monsieur_! Like a sheep, you're being led on! Led on!"

It was over. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. The fists raised.

"If I was Daae, what would you say!? What would you say!?" he howled. "There's nothing there!"

"Adam, please-" Erik moved forward, placing a shivering hand on the larger man's shoulder.

The adrenaline drowned out the horror of Adam's first reaction. He saw the arm swing out, felt the anger in his blood come to a boiling point, and watched the fist drive into the masked man's side.

_Crack._

Erik fell backwards and rolled, curling himself into a shaking ball half buried in snow. His arms hugged his torso, eyes staring ahead with dilated pupils. He hacked and gasped, attempting to pull himself up, only to fall back in pitiful coughs and moans.

No.

Adam felt his legs wobble. No. Aana should have been the last victim of blind rage. No. He stared at the hand that did the deed, loosening the fist just to see his fingers tremble. No! No! No!

What had he done? What had he done!? He stepped back, shaking his head, meeting Erik's pained gaze with his own terrified eyes.

"I didn't- I-" Adam babbled.

Horrified, he turned and ran, without a thought for the branches that whacked at his form.

* * *

"Adam!" Erik wheezed as the hooded figure ran away. He wasn't angry. How could he be? How many times had he himself snapped at the daroga?

It had been his own mistake. All his own. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up, still clutching his torso and fighting to get off his knees. The world spun around him. The crack had been loud and the pain in his body increased with every move.

The broken rib shifted as he stood up, earning a low cry of pain. He steadied himself, momentarily abandoning the violin and struggled towards the nearest tree. _Damn it_.

Black spots danced in front of his eyes. He leaned heavily on the tree, waiting for the nausea to leave. His whole being shivered, cold and sore. He let out a low breath, hissing as his rib cage expanded. He pushed himself off the bark and slowly walked, trying hard not to let the damaged rib move.

"Erik."

He coughed.

"Erik."

Dizzily, he turned his head. Gustave was standing in front of him, out of breath, and eyes wide with horror. The man was wearing no coat and a pile of crimson was spreading on his hair.

"M. Daae? What-"

"They came." Gustave wiped his eyes. "Knocked me out. Kristine-"

He cried out in desperation, kicking the snow beneath him. Gustave looked on the verge of weeping yet again. Erik blinked away the blurs of darkness, feeling a strange fear claw at him.

"Help me," Gustave begged, "Erik, please!"

"I will."

Erik paid Gustave no more attention as he limped ahead, his body protesting every action with shivers and pain.

* * *

**And that's all for now. Thanks for reading and feel free to review (liked it? hated it? really hated it?)!**

**Poor Adam's just such an angsty character- he's got enough angst to out-brood Erik. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed angsty!Adam and wounded!sick!Erik. Next time, the cult makes its move on Kristine, bad things happen to people, some mysteries are solved, and Erik bites off a bit more than he can chew.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for the reviews! Climax, we're here. This will be a multi-chapter climax too. Sorry for the lack of Adam in this chapter, but there's a lot going on with the Daaes, so I had to split the "POV"s.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein**

* * *

"Frederik's rounded up his dogs," Gustave cried, scrambling blindly in the snow, the wind making a mess of his hair and blowing piles of snow into their faces. Erik forced himself to move faster.

In the haze that his mind was slowly sinking into, he could hear the sound of barks and howls, wild noises he had thought long gone from his memory. The distant blurb of lanterns shone ahead, no doubt from Frederik and his friends. _You're being led on, monsieur_. He shuddered.

"M. Daae, Jorgen, where is Jorgen!?"

Gustave's head had not stopped bleeding. The violinist took a moment to register the question before shaking his head, mouth slightly agape.

"I- I don't know."

Now it all made sense. Jorgen was why Kristine was chosen, because he knew her, he knew her. Erik's eyes threatened to close, his legs going numb, the sound of Gustave's shouting in his ears and his own vicious coughs. Kristine! Kristine! The sky was starless overhead, a complete void of black that wanted to consume them. Consume. Consume.

_Drums_.

He heard them. A soft, slow beating towards their left, so distant he almost failed to detect it. He narrowed his eyes.

"M. Daae," he whispered, hoping the other man could hear, "follow me."

Erik took one step forward, a bout of agony shooting up his chest, and felt himself steadied by Gustave's desperate grip. It would be a long, painful walk.

* * *

Nothing lay ahead. Her head throbbed. She was frozen in place, the trees staring eerily down at her bound form. Kristine's mind was groggy, the shapes in the dark nothing but blurs.

Her limbs were frozen in place, the binds cutting into her skin. _This isn't right_. Hands on her stomach, tracing the curve of her swell. Her body bucked against the ground, the snow burning her back. _No!_

"Gustave!"

Rough hands pinned her back down, the eyes only bits of white behind crude burlap. Kristine shouted, screamed, called until her mouth was filled with snow. Dom. Dom.

Her legs were parted, the ropes around her ankles binding them to burnt stakes. Dom.

Drums- no! The rhythm increased. The sound multiplied. She shrieked as her ears were filled with whispers, as cold as the air. Her dress ripped. Her captors tugged at her clothing, ripping, tearing, exposing her to their gazes. She tried to turn from their covered faces, away from the rough burlap so crudely stitched and dyed. _Like corpses, like the face of a corpse-_

Death was upon her. Upon the child. No! No!

She felt a hand snake down her torso. She shut her eyes, the steely surface of a blade touching her breast. She waited for the pain, screaming the whole while, pleading for help.

"Stop! Please!"

"The last," a voice said. "The last," another joined. "The last." "The last." "The last." Their voices mingled, a twisted blend against the drum beats.

"_The last_." "_The last_." "_The last_."

Pleading for Gustave, for any name she knew. "Frederik!" "Hilda!" "Gustave!" "Jorgen!" "Agda!" "Brita!" "Anja!" "Gustave!"

"_One mother for one_." Beat. "_The last_." Beat. "_One mother for one_." Beat. "_The last_." Beat. "_One mother for one_."

Her body thrashed as she felt the figures fall on her, heads digging between her parted legs- _Please no! No!_

"Erik!"

"_One_-" "_The_-" _"Mother_-" "_La_-" "_For_-" "-_st_" "-_one_."

* * *

The land seemed to slope around him, the world horridly off balance, and threatening to throw him into the abyss. Erik coughed until his chest was nothing but a vault of fire. But the sounds-

The drum beats were louder. Gustave could hear them by then, if the wild look on his face was to be believed. They crept past the trees, the man in front swaying with every step. He couldn't give in yet. They were almost at the source. Erik was sure of it. His head ached terribly. Almost there. Gustave's shoulders were covered in blood. Closer. Erik felt as if his side was ripping apart, the broken bones scraping his insides.

A scream.

"Kristine," the violinist gasped, darting past Erik and deeper into the shadowed woods.

Erik limped after him, a faint chanting growing louder as they neared the screams. "The last one." There was a short burst of orange before he tumbled to the ground, Gustave landing inches beside him.

"_One mother for one_."

The voices were in unison, a circle of fire peeking from behind several trees. The woman's screams pricked at his ears as Erik gathered himself, watching Gustave charge toward the flames, his wife's name echoing in the dark.

"_Erik_!"

The masked man stood, startled by the abrupt call of his name. From _her_ lips nonetheless. It only meant desperation. Memories of the shah's torture chamber flashed in his mind. The screams, the blood, the cries.

He struggled to stay awake- _daroga, Erik made her laugh! Erik made her laugh_- running blindly forward, forgetting the cold and pain-_ daroga, the sultana will be pleased! Daroga, don't look at me like that_- and almost froze at what he saw.

At least nine figures stood around the bucking body of Kristine Daae, her arms spread, a rope on each limb tying her to wooden stakes, her legs parted, the rope cutting into her ankles. She was naked in the snow, the bulge in her belly turning pink, a man bent before her hips-

_"Only the most exquisite torture, magician!" Daroga, Erik is scared. Don't make him go back, daroga, don't._

There was a shallow cut on her collarbone, illuminated by the fire from the haystacks beside her. The man was wearing-

Adam's face.

The stitched yellow visage was stark under the firelight, mocking, unnatural, a near mirror of Erik's own. A caricature- an effigy.

"Kristine!"

Gustave burst into the scene, throwing himself on the man's back, both falling to the snow, rolling and punching with a violence that stopped the women at the drums. _Stupid man!_ Without a second thought, Erik rushed forward, hands pulling out the punjab.

Gustave fell back, accosted by another of the disguised figures, one that held a glint of silver. The lasso wrapped around the man's wrist and pulled him back with a crack. A cry of pain followed.

"Get her!" Erik shouted. Gustave nodded and scurried away.

_Don't make him go back, daroga!_

An attack of coughing returned. Erik loosened his grip, enough time for his victim to deliver a hard blow to his ribs. Searing agony sent him stumbling backwards, the world momentarily going out of focus. The released man clutched his broken wrist, a look of pure determination in his eyes, a look that troubled Erik.

_"The stubborn ones are the hardest to extinguish, are those not your words, magician?"_

From the corner of his eye, he saw the rest approach the Daaes, determined not to let _the last one_ escape. He picked up the discarded knife just as the man before him tackled- _"Promise me, Erik, that there will be no more killing-"_- and stuck the blade into the man's knee.

The cultist fell with a moan, spurts of blood coloring the snow. Erik crawled away, forcing himself to his feet and tugging at the punjab. He couldn't tell how many were approaching Gustave or himself. Five? Four?

The lasso wound around another neck. He tightened, releasing just in time to avoid the snap. _Daroga, Erik does not know_. Another. He tightened, feeling his muscles weaken. The man thrashed in his grasp, kicking at the air. He dropped.

Three? Two? A brief burst of pain hit him in the head. He was on his knees, a stream of red dripping into his eyes. He avoided another blow, falling into the snow, staring up at giants with swords- no, men with knives. He winced, jumping back up and rounding the lasso on another attacker. He was too slow. The man elbowed his rib, ripping a yell of pain from his mouth. Erik stepped back, his grip faltering on the punjab, as a sharp pain tore into his side.

He saw his own blood splash against the man's hand as the knife came out, slathered in red.

Desperately, he threw the punjab again, with all the speed he could muster, and tightened, hands itching to pull the snap. No, no, the daroga would not like that. Panting and gasping in turn, he held up an arm to defend himself against the second man. Third man?

The dulling blade sliced him in the arm. He dropped the punjab.

He moved, too slow to avoid the next cut, a loud slice against his battered chest. Erik coughed, the world spinning again, spots of scarlet landing on the snow beneath his feet. Another burst of pain, a slash to his back. He felt himself sink, hands pulling at his mask.

It slipped off.

_No!_

His arms reached out, the adrenaline pushing the pain back, as he tackled the one who tore it off, hands on the throat. The body stopped flailing- _Erik promises, daroga_- and he let go, coughing violently. He left the unconscious man, suddenly aware that the others had disappeared.

Surely he hadn't imagined-

No, the pain was all too real. And his face- shaking, he retrieved the lasso, tucking it back into his jacket, ignoring the wetness growing against it- his face had been revealed. Perhaps that was what sent them running.

He gasped for air, clumsily tying the mask back to his face, and proceeded to stumble toward the couple in the snow. The wind pulled at him, pelting him with savage piles of snow and burning his wounds.

* * *

Gustave held his wife in his arms, trying to calm her stammers. Kristine clutched at him, half frozen from cold and petrified with fear. All that mattered was that he was with her- that she was for the moment, out of harm's way. He looked past her, at Erik's limping form, and the various bodies scattered around them.

His eyes widened at the realization of what that could imply. And to his guilt, he realized that he did not care if they died. He hoped they were dead. _No, no such thoughts- such horrible thoughts_. He shivered.

"Are- are they dead?"

Erik stood over them and shook his head, his hat gone, revealing a scalp covered with thin wisps of hair, and what appeared to be a large bleeding gash. Gustave turned guiltily back to Kristine.

"We- we should go back- Frederik can help-"

The masked man's cloak fell at a heap next to him. "Cover her in this." Gustave grabbed the article, nodding gratefully, and went on to do just that. "Thank-"

But one look at Erik by the firelight was all it took to drain the remnants of color from his face. The man's clothes were covered in rips and blood, the worst of it from his side, plops of blood leaving it for the piling snow.

"You're hurt!" he gasped.

"I'll be fine," the other replied tiredly. Gustave knew otherwise- that was the phrase the masked man always used.

"But-"

"We should go." Erik bit back a grunt of pain. "Now."

Gustave gathered Kristine in his arms and stood up, her eyes locked on the blood in the snow. She was shaking against him. He felt lightheaded as they turned back, away from the fire. But he was still afraid, terrified of what was to come further in the dark.

The wind howled.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! And I really have no idea if this is living up to the horror genre, or the drama genre, so please review and let me know? With cherries on top?**

**And no, things are not going to look up for Erik. Or Gustave. Or Adam. It's gonna be a long, long night.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Wow! Last chapter got the most reviews for this story- thank you all so much! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint and I'm very sorry for the cliffhanger.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein**

* * *

Gustave tried to ignore the vicious throbbing in his head. Twice he had nearly let the wind sway him off his feet. He couldn't afford to jeopardize their journey, not with Kristine in his arms. Her shivers grew, Erik's bloodied cloak hardly enough to keep her warm.

"Frederik!" he called.

A rush of wind. They still had more to go. The harsh sound of barking resonated in his ears- she would be in safety soon. He bit his lower lip, turning back to check on Erik. The other man's limps were growing more drastic by the second, their path in the snow traced with his blood. Erik kept a hand on his side, yellow eyes frequently flicking to nothing behind that mask, his normally erect posture reduced to a pained slouch.

It was nothing but proof of his deteriorating condition. "Frederik!"he cried again.

He was knee deep in snow, head swirling, and breaths coming out in puffs of mist. He could still hear the dogs barking. They could make it. They _had_ to make it.

* * *

Adam dragged his prey through the snow, the woman kicking and and screaming to no avail. The only reply she received was the wind's harsh sound. He snarled, lifting her by the legs and slamming her body against himself. Winded, she stared up at him like an animal about to be skinned. Her cold eyes were terrified, her disarrayed hair blowing past her hooded cloak.

He had come across her while approaching the fire and drums. They had screamed upon seeing him and she was among the few supposed cult members, the one unfortunate enough to have been caught. He forced a ghastly grin.

"Tell me," he demanded, "what you were doing in the forest."

"Death- death," she stammered, "go away- away-"

"It was YOU!" he roared, "your people! I ought to slay you where you cower!"

"No!" she shrieked, fighting to free herself, clawing at him, kicking, "No! No!"

He squeezed, causing a choke to escape her mouth. Gurgling, she writhed until he let go. The woman lay frozen, unable to tear her eyes away from his visage. Adam stood over her, hands poised to strike once more.

"I will rip you limb from limb!"

"No!" she curled into a ball, "I- I'll tell you everything, whatever you are, whatever you are-"

"_Start_!"

"Hi- his name is Anders. I didn't want this- I didn't! They'll kill us if we-"

He grabbed her and shook, ignoring her cries. "Start at the beginning," he growled.

* * *

Kristine was aware of Gustave's comforting presence, his warm arms around her, and yet she was surrounded by death. The cloak smelled of death, not the decay of corpses, but that of the reaper himself. _No, not now, please, not now_.

She felt disconcerted as her body moved, the distant call of a name ringing in her head. Frederik. Frederik. Erik. Her eyes refused to open, the cold refusing to leave her quaking body. She heard barks as Gustave's yells were returned.

Frederik. Frederik.

"... by a fire... hurry."

She heard herself babble about the child, about mylings. "Gustave, gustave..."

"... going to be fine-"

"Gustave, what..."

"M. Daae-"

"Kristine!"

Gustave's arms left; she wanted to shudder as another pair took her. "... doctor..."

"Frederik."

Gustave. Vague names formed in her numb head. Frederik. Christine. Erik.

"... safe..." _Safe_.

* * *

"Gustave, come in!" Frederik ordered, standing at the door to his cottage.

Erik put his weight on a nearby tree, hoping he had heard wrong when Daae replied: "no." He had no doubt they would all be caught in the coming blizzard if they ignored Frederik, and Gustave's head wound was not faring well. He attempted to voice his opinion when a wave of dizziness surged through him. The various aches did little to help matters.

"They're still out there- I have to make sure they're caught. I need to go to town-"

"You're mad!"

"They could return! We can't let them continue this!"

He couldn't hear the rest of their conversation. All he could see was the sultana's laughing face, Kristine's terrified eyes, Adam's enraged stare, his own death's head. He tried to block them from his mind, tried to push the nausea back, tried to ignore the pain. He focused on Kristine. What about Kristine? Who was she? Daae's wife, yes, Daae's poor wife. With child. She was in the cottage, in shock, tended by Frederik's wife and son. Son... the son was a blur, a blur who had gone for a doctor, gun in hand.

Frederik's dogs paced restlessly about, baring their teeth at nothing and barking into the night.

"_Come back_!"

The stockier man chased his friend, only to be shoved back violently by the latter. Gustave disappeared into the woods, leaving Frederik sitting in the snow, and it was only then that the masked man's senses returned.

_Shit_.

"You," he directed at Frederik, "stay here-" cough- "stand guard." Holding back a groan, he pushed himself off the tree, and staggered toward the woods. If Daae had run in that condition, he would surely die- _daroga, what would you do?_- if Frederik went after him, that let the women vulnerable- _Erik does not know_.

"And you'll find him?" Frederik snapped, "you can barely walk!"

"Then we shall make do." Erik limped past the other man, Frederik grudgingly letting him have his way. The man had his own family to worry about, to fear for. _You're certainly smarter than Daae..._

Frederik turned away, unsure eyes landing on a gruesome sight. The bark of Erik's tree was stained with red.

* * *

Anders. The name was like a curse in his head- Anders, the man whose sick fantasies were stimulated by one thing alone- the lost notes of Victor Frankenstein. Adam kicked a tree, knocking off a heap of snow, the wind beating his hard back. To want to recreate this destruction, to want to summon the dead, the sick fool would die.

The woman had run from him, and in her haste, fallen into the frozen stream, into a hole that Adam was glad he had created. He left the abused tree and watched the stream- her body did not surface.

He had a hunt to tend to.

Adam stomped through the forest, angrily wrecking the dying trees in his path. Snapping twigs, ruined bark, ripped branches, savage roars. When at last he stopped, he stood in a small clearing, listening to the rapid fall of snow.

Frankenstein's indirect influence would be wiped off this Earth, he swore it. He stared ahead, at the distance he was sure he traveled, and saw two hooded figures. He approached them on silent feet.

The first had no time to scream before his head was dashed against a trunk, and the second, in his surprise, lost the grip on his knife. Adam wasted no time in crushing the man's windpipe. He took extra satisfaction in bashing their skulls in, until there was nothing left of their faces save bloodied messes with pink insides leaking out of their heads.

He could only imagine what he would do to Anders- the mere thought made him flinch.

Adam moved on, determined to hound out his enemies, undeterred by the increasing cold. He did not know how long this went on, with nothing but white and brown in his vision, the blood still clinging to his large hands, when he came across a limp body.

"You."

His eyes widened, words failing him. So he had been right. Daae was indeed one of them.

* * *

Erik crouched as the vomit left his mouth. Teeth chattering of their own accord, he stood up, every muscle screaming in protest, and placed the mask back on his face, fingers clumsily trying to tie it back in place. His left hand was covered in blood- he reminded himself that the blood had come from his own side, not some victim of the torture chamber.

The cold had dulled the pain from his wounds somewhat, but it was so unbearably cold. The burn from the broken rib, on the other hand, had increased tenfold, and the bouts of coughing only made it worse. The cut along his chest added further to the discomfort.

He had to find Gustave soon- Erik was _not_ confident in his ability to find the way back to the cottage if the blizzard started. Time was running out.

_"Oh magician, does it hurt?"_

He limped on- _"Break for me," she ordered_- a fierce gust of wind sending him skidding back. An uneven pile of snow caused him to stumble and fall on one knee. Spots of black. Scarlet spots in the snow.

_"You cannot die just yet!" she screeched._

_Daroga, don't leave Erik. Don't leave him, please! Please!_

"Erik!"

_Please, please, daroga._

"Erik."

"Daroga?" he whispered, staring up at the huge man. Daroga... no, that was in the past. He was in... Sweden, yes, looking for a man named Daae... and the creature before him was- was-

"Adam."

Adam's aged cloak was covered in dust and snow, bits of blood on its tearing fabric. There was an excitement in his eyes. But it was the man swung over his back that finally woke Erik up. Gustave's bleeding head lolled.

"I am sorry for the injury I caused you, my friend," Adam began, "But my suspicion was correct. Your violinist was among that cult."

"What!?" Erik shouted, "Let him go!"

"I will tell you everything later, for now, we dispose of him."

"Adam," he growled, "he has nothing to do with them- give him to me and we shall part ways here."

The wind whistled around them. And to Erik's unease, Adam laughed, a dry, uncanny laugh.

"We are so very alike, Erik. If a man like Daae had tried to befriend myself, I believe I would react the same way. But judgement can be blind, and look at your state- I know he was responsible."

Erik stood up unsteadily, Adam's form seeming to double in his unclear vision. "Adam, please," he coughed, "I shall have to harm you if you do not relent."

"Then you will have to forgive me," the other replied coldly.

The larger man wore an expression of rage, of a hellbent eagerness to complete some unknown task, and Erik knew the odds were against him if he dared try to delay Adam. _You cannot fight me_, was the message he once received from the German's creation.

His bleeding arm protesting, Erik whipped out the punjab- it was futile, he knew- and charged. He had betrayed Adam, he knew, but- _"How many innocent men have you condemned, Erik?" the daroga asked softly_- he could not let Daae die in this fashion.

Adam easily sidestepped every swipe. The lasso struck the hulk in the shoulder, ripping a piece of cloak off, just as Erik felt a fist dig into his stomach. Another blow hit him on the shoulder and he was face down in the snow, immobilized with pain, swallowing his own bile.

"I am doing this for _you_!" Adam cried, "your own good, Erik!"

With his own cry, Erik shot back up, a bout of adrenaline allowing the punjab to wind itself around Adam's thick neck. The latter choked as he attempted to pull, the slice in his arm destroying what little tolerance his nerves had left. Adam's heavy hands delivered blow after blow upon his head, chest, and arms, the sounds loud in his ears. A finger dug into the cut and he was forced to loosen his grip.

A bout of coughing took over, enough time for Adam to shove Erik aside and throw the punjab away. Erik felt a strong grip on his shoulders as Adam squeezed, the pain blinding him temporarily before he was slammed back into the ground, much like their first meeting.

"I do what I must for your sake!" Adam roared, frustration in his voice.

"Let- let him go..." Erik rasped, the world mixing into swirls before his eyes. The next sensation he was aware of was Adam's foot coming down on his chest as he prepared to continue the fight-

His screams of pain mingled with Adam's pleads for forgiveness as more ribs crunched under the pressure. When the pain finally stopped, he was unable to open his eyes, the coughs coming out in horrid guttural noises.

"Why?" Adam's voice whispered.

"... him... go..."

Coughs. His own moans.

"You're wounded from head to toe. Why, Erik? Why risk so much for this man?"

"...go..."

"He caused this..."

"... please..."

Erik heard something hit the snow beside him. "Then you may both die here." Adam's shadow was gone. Blood. Pain. Wind. Did this mean he had succeeded? Erik found himself lying alone in pure agony, Gustave's unconscious body beside him.

* * *

**And that's where we leave off! I hope this was worth reading. Please let me know if it was decent enough.**

**On another note, sorry for putting Erik in such terrible condition, but it just wouldn't be realistic if he wasn't suffering so much, haha. And no, Adam hasn't really left them- he's still worked up and convinced Gustave is the villain. That may or may not change...**

**Next time, some not-so-dead cultists come back and Erik has a breakdown.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Final part of the climax. Again, thank you all for the reviews! I hope this chapter was worth waiting for. Also, Gustave and Erik made a pretty sloppy rescue team, haha. **

**Here come the promised violence, blood, and tears.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein**

* * *

Adam felt a rock crush under his foot, the sick feeling of Erik's crushed ribs still plaguing him. _He chose that_. It no longer mattered- the man who should have been his companion had failed the test before it even began. Wherever Erik came from, how he came about, it mattered not. He was far too frail, too easily broken to equal Frankenstein's inventions.

Adam knelt, his cloak whipping towards the sky, pile upon pile of snow heaping over him. His emotions were in a frenzy, the anger unable to dissipate, the sorrow unable to leave, the regret increasing tenfold. What after? There never was an after for him, not since his creator's death.

_Killing Daae would not win him over. I know!_ He roared into his hands. Man had won over him once more. What if he had been wrong about Daae? About Erik? About himself? And what if he had been right?

He cupped his ears, burying himself in the mounting white, remembering the faces of those who died by his hand, some a blur, some etched- Josephine, Elizabeth, William, Clerval, Frankenstein, Erik-

His screaming mouth filled with snow.

* * *

Erik awoke to a world of white, the snow viciously blowing over him, his body stiff and numb. He sat up, feeling as if he had been struck by lightning, and heard a cry of pain. Where... Gustave... the cottage... blizzard- he willed his lids not to droop. He pocketed the punjab slowly. As he crawled toward Daae's body, strange moans and pathetic whimpers sounded in his ears. It was only when he reached Gustave's face, pale, bloodied, and covered with bits of frost, that Erik realized the sounds were coming from his own mouth.

"M. Daae," he croaked, each word shooting bolts of pain through his chest. "M. Daae- M. Daae-"

_"Why risk so much for him?"_

He coughed, hands clinging to his side, the blood gushing once more. _Erik does not know, Erik never knows anything until it is too late_. "Gustave!" he shouted.

The violinist's swollen eye cracked open, bloodshot and dazed. "Where..." he managed to say weakly, steam escaping his nose and mouth. Groaning, Erik hoisted the man up by the arms, his chest and side about to explode. Panting, he slid Gustave's arm over his shoulder.

Gustave's eyes shut again, his weight a burden against Erik's damaged shoulders. He felt the blood seep harder from the wound on his back. Erik stared ahead, wondering if he was blinded or if he was truly looking at nothing but glaring white. The trees were nothing but shadows, the twilight sky barely visible.

_Erik is a monster. "Do you really believe that?" the daroga asked him, disappointed._

He staggered ahead, swallowing his bile, head spinning in every direction, body threatening to fall apart. He trembled and shuddered with every step, the wind pushing them back, whipping the exposed flesh behind every rip in his clothing.

_"Tell me, Erik, what to you, is a good man?"_

_Don't ask me such things, you boring fart!_

Daae was a good man. The best he had come across in a very long time. Erik fell, Gustave's limp weight dragging him down. Wincing, he pushed himself up, Gustave in tow, and continued stumbling blindly- did Daae not have a child on the way?

_But Erik is not a good man. There is nothing more vile than him. You're wasting your time, daroga._

Cough. Cough. "Gustave, do not die!" he ordered in Swedish. The response was a faint groan.

If they could make it within the next hour, the head wound would not get the best of the violinist. Surely, Frederik's son had returned with the doctor- Daae's child should be fine, his wife... Erik opened his eyes, and gritting his teeth, dragged them on.

He stumbled, his free hand placed over his side, and made a noise of frustration as crimson spilled between his fingers. He tore a strip of his ruined jacket off and clumsily wrapped it around the wound- it would have to make do for now.

He saw shadows. The shah was standing in front of him. No! The ground was covered in blood, snow in a desert. He swayed, the world suddenly turning a shade of red. The sultana was on a branch. The daroga was on his back.

No... the sultan sitting... the gypsies in their caravan... the boy in the cage... mother, my mask...

Gustave slid off him. Erik rolled aside, the corner of his clouded eyes seeing a foot approach them. He stared up as the figure came into view, its bruised face staring desperately down at them. He grabbed the ankle, a dagger plunging in the snow beside him.

The ones he left alive. He hacked violently, another boot delivering a blow to his side, the makeshift bandage soaked in red. The sultana's pits- he was in one, the daroga shouting at him, the punjab tight in his hands, the prisoner beating him to death.

"The last one!" three voices cried, reaching for Gustave. "The last one's trade! The last one's trade!"

The last one's trade. Kristine- the child. They still wanted her.

Erik clawed his way through them, crying out at each blow dealt to his form. He stretched over Gustave, a sharp pain tearing along his thigh. A hand managed to rip the strings of his mask, and before Erik could squirm his head aside, the mask fell. "Living corpse..." The sultana, the shah, the chamber, scorpions, laughter, whips, carnivals-

They had never meant to kill him. They believed in a living corpse- they believed in the raising of the dead. And he was in the torture chamber, surrounded by mirrors of his own image, of Adam's image. The black pit of a nose, the veins running through parchment skin, the head of a member of death. Death! Death!

He yanked out the punjab, ignored the knife that barely sliced his torso, and pulled it over the man's head.

_"Promise me-"_

Snap!

A gasp.

The bones broke, the corpse falling- _"Erik does not kill anymore"_- and the others pounced- _Daroga, Erik promises_- pinning him to the ground, struggling to pound him to oblivion, their knives leaving only nicks as he dodged.

The lasso wound around another neck. No! No! He had to stop, he had to- Snap!- _Daroga, please, Erik is sorry!_

The body fell away, Erik staring wide-eyed at what he had done. It should have ended- he was different now- no, he never was- _"There is nothing for us!" Adam shouted_- daroga, please! Daroga! But had there ever been any other way?

Had he truly thought it possible to be redeemed? To do anything without destruction? To be anything but what he was? Before the last knife could strike, the punjab trapped its final victim- no, Erik, don't do that, don't do that, don't-

Snap.

The corpse fell. Erik dropped the punjab, kneeling in the snow, numbed by horror and pain. He stared at his shaking his hands, at the bruised fingers and skeletal build, at the wet blood on them- perhaps it was his own, but what did it matter?_ Daroga, I- I..._

_Erik is a monster._

He retched.

He broke, the tears coming out.

"Daroga, Erik is sorry," he sobbed, "Erik is sorry!" He meant to kill, he had wanted to kill, and he failed to feel the remorse he was so convinced existed.

"Erik is sorry!" he repeated, again and again, the cries echoing in the wind.

_"What happened to the oath, corpse?" the shadows asked._

"Daroga, forgive me! Forgive me!" he coughed between chokes and vomit, "Erik is sorry... Erik is sorry!" _Erik is sorry! _

* * *

Kristine stared at the ceiling, the nearby fire casting flickering shadows over the walls, her body wrapped in quilts and blankets, biting her lip worriedly. Hilda sat beside her, the older woman's hair tied in a disheveled bun. Her mind was still disoriented.

How long had it been since she awakened? _One mother for one_... Kristine leaned over the couch and vomited, Hilda shouting her name. There was a comforting pat along her back.

"I'm sorry," Kristine murmured, clutching the blankets closer to her form, now clothed in a rough gown.

"Should I get the doctor," Hilda asked, arms around the other woman. "E's in the other room, waiting for the storm to pass."

"Storm..." She held onto Hilda's arm. "Where's Gustave?"

"Town."

"How long?" A strange dread filled her, as if she knew by instinct that something had gone terribly wrong.

"..."

"D- did Frederik go-?" "No." Kristine shivered, hands rubbing her stomach protectively. _Hush, dear, no harm'll come to Gustave. No_.

"I- I think the other man went with him, the masked man."

Erik. Kristine shut her eyes, silently praying that her intuition had been wrong.

* * *

"Gustave... Gustave..."

He heard his name through a sea of light. He vaguely recognized that voice- the voice of heaven. Yes, that must have been it.

"... home soon-"

He felt like drowning yet again, the voice pulling him back. But he was cold, so very cold. There was a moan, whether from him or the voice, he couldn't tell. "Your lovely wife... a child on the way... it will be-"

The sound of coughing, of wind blowing. "Fine. It will be fine."

The voice sounded despondent, broken, and yet all he wanted was to hear it speak again. Gustave grunted in reply, unable to do anything else. He was aware of something moving beneath him- his arm was held, he was next to the voice.

His eyes opened to slits, the uneven white ground meeting his vision. They trailed to the legs walking, the legs that were not his own. There was blood in the snow, too much blood to be a trick.

Who? Such a soothing voice could only belong to... he groaned... the angel of music.

The legs buckled and he felt himself fall with the other man. A blinding view of white, his lashes tinged with frost. And they were moving again, a man's grunts of pain ringing in his ears. All that blood- he was perched on a terribly thin frame.

"Erik," he rasped.

"Oui."

"Erik..." Gustave attempted to turn his head, to take a glimpse of his savior's head.

"Gustave, Gustave, please," Erik begged, "whatever you do, do not look."

Gustave felt himself sagging again. "The mask..."

"Is gone. Do not look, Gustave."

He saw a dark shape on the ground, nearly buried. "Angel of music," he muttered, "will you sing?"

Gustave closed his eyes. A faint hum surrounded him, a strange raspy heavenly sound.

* * *

Erik had failed the daroga. _Erik is a fool_. He stumbled on, resisting the urge to drop Daae and crawl his way into a stream. The gash on his thigh hindered their progress significantly, but he had already resolved to die returning Gustave- there was no better alternative for creatures like him in the first place. It had taken him this long to learn and he would believe the Persian's lies no longer.

A monster was all he would and ever would be. Adam had been right. Everyone but the daroga had been right.

Angel of music.

He laughed harshly, ribs burning from the sensation. He was hardly anything angelic. But the delusion kept Gustave conscious, and for that reason alone, he did nothing to dissuade the man.

"Don't look!" he said again, as a familiar bulge came into view.

The violin case. _His_ violin- they were on the right path; he pulled the case out with his free arm, the object heavier than he remembered. Although he was sure his voice had been reduced to a pitiful rasp, Erik managed to weave a tune for the man on his back. He didn't care if it sounded terrible and it was all he could do to keep his own body from shattering indefinitely.

"_Wonderful_... _wonderful_," Gustave whispered deliriously.

Erik tasted blood on his tongue, felt everything grow sluggish and distant, but a house was obscured by the snow and wind. Frederik's cottage. He wondered if it was a delusion. He groaned, the wind slapping them backwards, the fabric around his side blown away, drenched in red. He sunk again, eyes shutting.

No.

Not yet. He managed to stand, stumbling toward the cottage like a puppet with broken strings. "Gustave, we're here-"

The other man's eyes flickered, and again, he tried to look up. "Do not look, Gustave."

To his surprise, it was Daae who chuckled this time. "I- I see... I will be sure to remind myself..."

The cottage was no delusion. Solid wood was yards away.

"... that the angel of music has a voice far lovelier than his face..."

* * *

Kristine heard a weak pounding in her dreams- the beating of drums- she awoke in a sweat, the shuffling feet of Hilda's eldest son rushing toward the cottage door. "Father!"

She all but jumped off the couch, lightheaded and nauseous. Frederik and his wife were pulling a figure in, the floorboards creaking, harsh piles of snow blowing in, to the son's frustration. Hurriedly, they forced the door shut.

Her heart stopped at the sight. "Gustave..."

Her husband stared weakly at her from Frederik's arms, his head layered with blood and body covered in snow. He smiled as she crouched by him, the doctor yelling something incoherent from his room.

"Gustave..." Kristine had never known it was possible to be so relieved, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm here," he whispered, before adding after a moan, "Erik... where is he?"

For the first time, Kristine noticed the black case wedged beneath her husband's arm, the violin case he had been so determined to buy.

"Hush, love." She patted his head as his lids shut. A frown tugged at her mouth- where was the Frenchman?

* * *

_Daroga, if you see Erik at hell's gates, would you forgive him?_ He lay face down in the snow, already knowing the answer: no. The pain was no longer there, or perhaps he was already beyond caring- even the cold did little to affect his numb body. Erik found that he lacked the energy to move- breathing itself was using up all his strength. But Daae's little family had come out of this alive- at least there was one event the living corpse had not tarnished.

He had hid when Frederik's door opened and left as soon as it closed. It was for the best. There was nothing left to do but await death and the judgement he knew he would fail. Shreds of his jacket blew away, large strips of his torn shirt following after.

The snow burned him, but never before had it felt so pleasant. Even the chills that ravaged him did nothing.

"You."

Was death speaking to him? Out of curiosity, he opened one eye to a slit. It was a plain man, a man with a face chafed by wind and eyes set below thick brows. The man's face contorted in rage, bruised hands twitching.

"You ruined it."

_Erik does ruin things_. "You ruined it!" The man's fingers grasped him by the few hairs he had and lifted his head. "You'll pay for that," he growled.

Erik's only response was to spit blood at his assailant's face. The latter punched him where the nose should have been, aiming at his face again and again, until red trickled into both Erik's eyes. The man panted harshly, tossing him aside. The next blow fell on his torso. He felt himself dragged upwards and slammed into a thick trunk, the sharp bark scraping his skin. There was a curse from the man, followed by another slam and a distinct pop.

Pain of the highest sort. A cry that could only be his own. He gave in to oblivion.

* * *

Adam kicked aside another dying bush. He needed to find Anders, needed to destroy the man. The other cult-men were dead; he did not know how but he had a faint inkling. No, it was best not to hope. But of one thing he _was_ certain- Anders was behind this.

He was moving in circles, the snow an annoyance to his progress, and he felt as if he was led back to the direction from whence he came. Anders would be moving in the same direction, if what that wretch said was correct- there would be no moving on after Daae's wife. She was the intended final.

A nearby shuffling pricked at his sensitive ears. It was the only lead he had, and without a second thought, Adam rushed toward it, pushing his way past a few low branches to do so.

He stopped to catch his breath. It was him.

Anders.

_The last one_. The man was pounding away at a figure in the snow, as if determined to break whatever it was with his bare hands. Adam stalked forward and yanked the man off his feet. His own huge fingers closed over the neck, squeezing slowly until Anders' face turned a sickly shade of blue. Lost in his rage, Adam looked past him at the thing on the ground.

It looked like a corpse with no skin on its bloodied head. But Adam realized he knew that body, he recognized its wounds, and most of all, he knew the mark on its chest that his own foot had left. _Erik_.

He let go of the man, watching Anders flail like a fish. He needed no answers from the man; he knew why Anders wanted mylings, wanted immortality, wanted revenge, and- his fists clenched- he knew that Erik was too weak, too injured to fight back. He stomped on the man's ankle, tearing a scream from Anders' throat as it crunched. The chest was next; he made sure not to stop until every rib was snapped.

Blood gurgling at the mouth, Anders struggled to move away, only to be pulled back and lifted by Frankenstein's final creation. For the first time, Adam felt blessed at having such power. He watched the other man writhe for a moment longer, the pain reflected in his face, the fear in his eyes, the absolute terror that must have struck him then.

"Fairplay," Adam said.

He thrust the man's head against a tree. He did it again. He refused to stop until the tree was wet with his enemy's blood and Anders' head looked worse than his own. Adam tossed the body aside when he was done and purposely stepped over its spine as he approached Erik.

His suspicions about the man's face had been correct. It was a horrendous sight, only worsened by the blood and bruises that littered the visage of death.

Despite the urge to turn back and look at Anders, he found he could not look away from Erik's prone form. His shoulders were covered in large dark bruises, gruesome marks that extended from his chest to torso. There were crisscrossing gashes along his chest, accompanied by a long red slice on his torso, a cut down the thigh, and a stab wound in his side, the blood still pooling. His clothes were ripped beyond recognition, the exposed flesh covered in painful scrapes and bruises.

Finding himself still staring at the blood seeping into the snow around Erik, Adam thought of what action to take. The companion he sought for so long had turned out to be a lost cause and he felt the dull desire to forget it ever happened.

But if nothing was done, Erik would surely die. He bent and upon detecting shallow breaths, picked the man up. Adam walked away, Erik's blood finding its way onto his arms.

* * *

**Whew! Thanks for reading and reviews would be real swell. Reviews count as painkillers for poor Erik.**

**Next time, we finally find out what that woman told Adam and the Erik torture comes to an end... or not.**


	11. Chapter 11

**At least 2 more chapters to go and this is done. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! You're the force pushing this story to its conclusion. Also, remember when I said the Erik torture would stop this chapter? I was wrong.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein**

* * *

Bending before the crackling flames, Adam added another stack of twigs to the fire, the ice clinging to his skin turning to water as he took in the warmth. He turned away from the Finn's fireplace, eyes falling on Erik's unconscious form, which he was careful to set as close to the fire as possible. He had once considered the notion of introducing Erik to Aana's cottage, his temporary homestead, but these were not the circumstances he envisioned.

Adam knelt by the man and finished applying the bandages to his chest, a material he himself had never needed. The less he saw of Erik's cracked ribs, accentuated by emaciation, the less he had to agonize over. He glanced at the wound in Erik's side, frustrated at how crude the stitches were. But he had no choice- the needle had been too small for his large fingers and cauterization was too high of a risk. He touched the man's bruised arm, the goosebumps brushing his fingers.

Fever. It was a sensation that plagued him from time to time, but had never done any lasting damage. He found himself staring at Erik's face yet again, at the hole of a nose, at the thin drawn lips, and at the veins that ran below his papery skin and would have extended over his scalp if not for the bandage over it. The face of a corpse indeed.

_You and I are the only ones who know the pain_.

Adam was still, however, curious of one thing: the voice. What sort of creator had Erik sprung from, to have such a horrid visage and such a heavenly voice? Was he too an experiment aiming at perfection? At a perfection that was rewarded with horror.

His fingers touched Erik's throat, noting the slight movement below them. There was no sign of a stitch, as if the vocal chords had been fused inside him. He added pressure in the investigation, only to recoil when the touches left a series of bruises on Erik's throat. _Damn it!_ He stared at his own hands- it seemed destruction would follow him wherever he went.

Hadn't Erik told him to stop killing? There was more than enough innocent blood on his palms.

Grimacing, Adam placed a hand on Erik's side, mulling over the guilt of what he was about to do. He pressed the stitched wound, earning a low moan from the prone man. It was a lovely moan. He pressed harder, the moans a terrifying music in his ears. Impossible. How?

He pressed until the angel's moans turned into a gargoyle's broken shriek. It was at that point Adam stopped, pulling his hand back in a sweat, his curiosity satisfied and his conscience stained. He stared apologetically at Erik before returning to the dwindling roll of bandages.

As he wrapped them around the skeletal man's torso, he couldn't help but find himself drawn to the scars again. Even under the mounting bruises, cuts, and gauze, the white lines stood out, running jaggedly through Erik's body in a way only made worse by his gaunt build. It reminded Adam of his own stitches, calculating lines that cut through him like seams. Scarring was rare for him, and the ruined sight of Erik's back had unintentionally peaked his curiosity on just how differently they were built.

He lifted the man's thin wrists, again marveling at how frail the fingers appeared. They bruised instantly at his firm touch.

As much as he wanted to rekindle their friendship, Adam knew he had not left Erik on the best of terms. They had been ready to murder each other in his memory. For both their sakes, he took the next course of action.

* * *

_I'm disappointed, Erik._

_Damn it, daroga, leave me be..._

_The jade eyes stared at him sadly, at the crimson that refused to be washed from his hands. Erik hugged his knees, lost in a void of black between them. Daroga, Erik is sorry. Erik has failed you._

_The sultana was right! And you were wrong!_

_The terrible eyes remained on him. He wept. Erik was wrong. He has always been wrong. You cannot forgive him, daroga. No one can..._

Warmth.

He was dry. Crackling. The feeling of thick cloth over his skin. How he had missed that warmth. _"Hello Erik," the Persian said, a soft smile touching his serious lips._

Erik heard a moan as his eyes opened. The next sensation he was aware of was pain. He felt as if the sun itself had crashed into his person. His body burned terribly, as if every inch of his flesh had been scorched by fire. Every breath he drew was a fit of agony and despite the newfound warmth, he still found himself racked with shivers and nausea.

He assumed he was in a wooden room, lying on a blanket, the blessed fireplace inches away. Mind numb, he attempted to wiggle his limbs, only to realize his hands were tied behind his back. He tried to sit up, wincing as the bonds cut into his wrists.

The world spun again, and he almost heard the shout of his own name when he fell to the ground, vomiting shamelessly on the floor, his chest about to explode. He was still coughing when he felt a pair of gruff hands around his shoulders. The last image he saw before falling back into the darkness was a strange vision of his own face.

* * *

Kristine opted for not going back to sleep, despite the chills that still ran through her. She couldn't return to the nightmares, to the thought of almost having lost her child, her husband, her own life. She shuddered at the thought, touching Gustave's hand with her own. He was beside her, snoring lightly, head swathed in bandages. How many hours until dawn? How long would the snowstorm last?

The night had seemed to stretch forever, a never ending nightmare. It was terrible to inconvenience Frederik's household, she knew, but for the moment, she was grateful that they were not alone in the cottage..

She pulled the covers up to her nose. Although she did not truly want to know why the events occurred, she knew it was inevitable that she would be told. She had never been one to face her fears. And there was still no word of Erik.

Try as she might, she was unable to purge the masked man from her mind. She had flashing memories of the blood in the snow when they... she shook her head, suppressing the rest. But if his condition was as terrible as she suspected, perhaps even worse, she found herself lying awake in concern.

* * *

His shoulder had been impaled by an ax blade- that was the only explanation his fuzzy mind could give for the pain. Erik awoke, his surroundings clearer than before, a sure sign that he was indeed out of the snow. He was too tired to hold back a groan. His throat was raw and every part of him ached with a fervor. He convulsed, several coughs racking his battered chest.

He wasn't sure if tears were pricking at his eyes or if he was passing out yet again. Tilting his head slightly, he caught sight of the bandages around his arm- the same material covered his chest and torso.

"You're awake?"

He recognized that guttural voice. It was- he moaned- he knew- he forced himself to lift his head slightly.

"Adam." He barely registered his own harsh whisper. Simply speaking had sparked pain in his chest._ Ribs... how silly of Erik_.

Spots covered his vision as Adam came to his side and knelt, pulling him into a sitting position just as the spots cleared. "W- What happened?"

Ignoring his own trembles, Erik slurped greedily at the bowl of water in Adam's hands, realizing that his face was uncovered as the liquid stung his split lip. He must have made a grotesque sight.

"You were beaten." Adam paused before continuing the statement. "Badly."

"My mask..."

"Gone."

Erik leaned forward, reluctantly resting on Adam's arm, his own bound hands useless behind him. "Untie me."

"I fear you would leave in some other act of martyrdom." The last word came out bitterly, leaving a sinking suspicion in Erik's mind.

"Is Daae safe?"

He hissed in pain as Adam's grip on his burning shoulder tightened. "And if I said he was _not_?"

Erik threw himself at the larger man, attempting to ram the latter to the ground, and received a ringing clout to the ear. He fell on his shoulder, tearing a howl of pain from his lips before he lost himself in a bout of coughing and gasping. Adam flipped him none-too-gently on his back, bending over him in repressed anger.

"You insufferable skeleton," the larger man growled, eyes shining with hurt. "If not for Daae, would you be lying here now?" To prove his point, he jabbed a finger into the other man's side, the wound clearly reopened.

"You're bleeding again!" Erik attempted to shift away when the finger poked him in the chest. He cried out.

"And did you forget our terrible scuffle!? Of which he was the cause?"

Adam pulled him up, sending his world into a dimension of blurs and haze. "If you had never been involved, would this-" The large hand closed around his shoulder. His world ripped in two. "-be dislocated!?" The grip tightened as his ears filled with roars of pain.

"Would you need it put back in place!?"

Adam wrenched him forward, forcing his arm upwards until it met his screaming shoulder. Erik suspected his eyes must have rolled back before he crumpled in Adam's arms, lacking the energy to even moan.

* * *

Listening to the snowfall outside the wooden walls, Adam imagined that the wind was screaming in pain. He stared at his hands, traces of Erik's blood left on the palms after he had re-stitched the man's wounds. Daae was indeed fine, he suspected. He blinked back the tears; Erik had made it clear yet again who he chose to ally with, and Adam was not too sure if he was bitter for this reason only or if he truly believed the violinist was behind this wickedness.

The dead woman hadn't mentioned him at all.

He hadn't bothered counting the hours since Erik last awoke, but he was sure that morning had not yet come. He was furious at the man and at himself. At this rate, he would surely kill Erik without the intent and in his condition, Adam was worried the man wouldn't last until daybreak. His own temper had nearly murdered his former companion and if that happened, he may as well burn himself alive.

Erik stirred on the floor, resigned eyes opening to slits as he coughed and shook. Adam sat by him, staring forlornly into the fire. "I lied- I'm sure Daae is fine. You must forgive me."

Cough.

"Erik, the men and women in the forest, I managed to catch one of them. She was threatened into confessing everything to me."

Crackle. Cough. "Go... go on." A bitter rasp.

Erik's eyes shut from the pain, though Adam was sure he was still listening. "The man who beat you, his name is Anders. And my creator, he was Baron Victor Von Frankenstein."

The name felt like poison on his tongue, but as he began the tale, Adam found that he felt nothing at all for the rest, save a strange sense of vengeance.

"He had attempted to destroy all evidence of his last experiment on this earth, all record of my creation. But in his last feverish days, he took refuge on a British ship, and there, a man wrote down his every word. Mark me, every word. This Englishman is long dead, but from the woman's tale, I have pieced together what became of his letters..."

* * *

**Cliffhanger! Thanks for reading and again, reviews are more than welcome. Each review counts as a hug for sick!hurt!sad!Erik.**

**Next time, Adam's story finishes and maybe our companions can get on slightly better terms.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Update at last! Sorry for the long wait. I've finally typed out the whole deal with the cult- you guys will have to let me know if it's entertaining or not.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or Frankenstein**

* * *

Adam paused in his tale, waiting for Erik's coughing fit to pass. The man on the floor bit back a moan before falling silent. He opened one eye, sunken and bloodshot, the action itself prompting the larger man to continue talking. Adam turned his gaze away from Erik's broken form and towards the fire.

"The Englishman's words fell into his sister's hands. It happened so long ago- perhaps she was repulsed, perhaps she was plagued by nightmares from his account. This is my own conclusion, for I have seen the Englishman myself; he is a brave man, and I doubt his sibling would be the cowardly type. Her husband, he was a doctor."

Cough. The wind whistled around them.

"A mediocre man with many ambitions, and like my-" his nostrils flared, "_father_, had goals that should not be executed by men. Immortality was what he worked towards; the occult, the undead, all were subjects he chose to dabble in. My Frankenstein's words may have been the only real discovery he stumbled upon. Oh, the foolish man!

"This doctor took it upon himself to recreate the monstrosity that Frankenstein indulged in- he convinced several of his colleagues to partake in discretion. Nothing worked, not until they found a dying infant. They managed to salvage the pitiful thing, but the child grew into something so evil that they had to destroy it- the details are sordid, my friend.

"In the end, their work disappeared, too valuable to be destroyed and too horrific to be used. The child had the looks of any normal human being, the actions, the mentality, but an artificial evil was rooted inside it, as if the corpses they used to save its life were taking their vengeance. This record followed our doctor his entire life, haunted him as it had once my creator. Unable to endure it any longer, he left his life behind- his wife, his children, his home and fled for the barren north.

"He was long dead by the time a young man came across his seclusive Scandinavian home. There, he recovered the notes and used them to fuel his own ambition- immortality. Imagine, Erik- having both the doctor's and my father's work, the possibilities were endless. Anders feared death; there was nothing he wanted more than longevity. With the combined notes, his attention fell on myself and the child.

"How durable we were. But unlike his predecessors, Anders was not a man of science. He believed in superstition and in his eyes, we were products of the undead, of ghosts that could be used. He believed that if he could somehow appease the spirits of dead children, those fated to wander and prey on the living, they would serve him. And they would bring him the power and immortality he so craved.

"The madman convinced others- do not look so skeptical, Erik, your precious Daae is an equally superstitious man- to join his cause. A man's heart is dark, as we both know, and to these persons, they could not resist the temptation of Anders' offer; some were even willing to sacrifice their own children, for they believed eternity as a _myling_ could lead to something greater. But he did not have them all swayed..."

His fists clenched.

"It was not until I arrived, until Anders glimpsed the face of the walking dead, of a so called demon, that he inspired his companions to search for me. It was then that they were convinced, convinced that Anders' proposal had ground that they started the cult. It was a deadly game they played and many suffered- the children were killed to produce ghosts with hatred, with too much pain to enter heaven, and the young women were sacrificed to provide a mother. They were offered as wombs for the mylings, as caretakers in the afterlife equally disillusioned and pained. These were gifts to the mylings, companions and mothers.

"Members of their cult could not leave for the majority would be sure to kill in order to protect their exclusive secret. There was a set number of victims, a number not revealed to me but what Anders deemed just right. Daae's wife was the last one, but ah, you managed to ruin that, my friend. In one night, you have dismantled all of their work."

Adam breathed heavily, eager to catch his breath. He had presented the facts with more eloquence and insight than the woman had given him, but he thought it appropriate to share everything he knew of the _events_ at hand.

"Ha."

Erik burst into mad laughter, cackling and coughing in turn, tears streaming down his face, as Adam turned back toward him, alarmed.

"Oh, Erik has quite the talent for that," he rasped, "he always destroys, Adam, he always ruins."

Adam said nothing, walking back towards the cackling man and sitting a slight distance from him. He eyed Erik warily as the latter tried to roll out of the blankets.

"There is nothing," Erik started, wincing as a patch of red appeared on his bandaged thigh, "good about raising living corpses."

"No."

Breathing raggedly, Erik calmed and ceased his attempts to leave the spot, once again seized by shivering. A long, slow sigh escaped the man.

"Erik wishes to know what Adam plans now."

"I will wait for the storm to pass. In the meantime, we do nothing."

Then, in a quieter tone, Erik's weak voice asked, "Has Erik destroyed Adam's trust?"

The larger man said nothing. He stared sadly back at his companion, then at his own thick hands. "Do you remember when I first told you of Frankenstein?"

He sighed. "I have hurt many in defense. I have done good and received pain in return. I have hurt many for vengeance as well. I have done wicked and received nothing in return... I killed my father's brother, a mere boy, for vengeance, and framed an innocent maid for my crime. I have murdered a kind man to hurt my creator. I have murdered Frankenstein's loving fiancee to harm him. They have done nothing to incur my wrath."

Erik said nothing, clouded eyes staring at the crackling fire.

"I sought to dismantle my father. I tried forcing him into making me a companion but he refused- he was afraid and in my bitterness, I committed the horrors you know of. I followed him to the ends of the Earth, driving him mad, and in the end, I killed him as well. But only because there was nothing left for either of us. There was no solace in the crimes we shared or what I had done. All I ever wanted was to call him father. Acceptance, to be able to live like any other man."

"I tried to join him in death but could simply not destroy this body. When I first came here, after years of wandering with no answer, I found it in a violinist's music. He ran from me in fright the first time I confronted him and in retaliation, I-"

Adam gulped, ready to confess. "I smashed his violin. I will not say anymore- perhaps I did the violinist injustice. Soon I met a woman, her name was Aana, a Finn's daughter, and although she could not see me, she was the first to show kindness to a lonely traveler behind her walls. Slowly, I befriended her and some foolish notion allowed me to love her."

"I felt passion, such joy towards her. It was as if my life up to this point meant nothing before her. But once she saw me... she screamed and ran in disgust... blinded by rage, I attacked her. She died by these monstrous hands. Afterwards, I spent time in this village pillaging and lurking, like a beast with a thirst for vengeance against the wrongdoings of mankind. Until you came, until I finally felt as if I was no longer alone."

The flames cast dancing light across their features. It was a long time before one spoke.

"I was born in a small village near Rouen."

_Born. You were born_. That was enough to cement the gap between them.

"My father never saw me and my mother hated me. My poor, unhappy mother- she would throw a mask at me if this face was bare. It was the first gift I ever received. She could not bare to look at me, touch me, let along kiss me. I ran away from her as a child-"

He coughed and sighed, a forlorn sound.

"She did not need me in her life, should not have been saddled with the burden. I fell in with a band of gypsies. A man displayed me as the living corpse- a fitting name, isn't it?- and for a while, I knew what it was to live in a cage. Don't look at me like that, Adam- your shock troubles me. I killed that man and life was a new horizon. I traveled the world with these fairs and freakshows, as a magician and as an oddity, as an entertainer of the shadiest sort.

"The shah-in-shah of Persia requested me, demanded me, you know." He laughed softly. "The chief of police came for me himself, the daroga as I called him. In Persia, I was the court's most loved and most hated; for a while, I knew what it was to live in power. And I was willing to do anything to keep that power, to please the shah, to save my own hideous hide."

The strained voice wavered. "I built torture devices for the shah and the little sultana. She loved the morbid, Adam. She would laugh with each death. There were men who died in artificial deserts of my design, men who were strangled by my own hand in the sultana's playgrounds, men who I executed for her laughs, who may have died innocent, who I fought for hours on end. I lived in sin, so much blood and death."

Erik coughed once more, attempting to lift his trembling hands, as if to show Adam that the blood on them was not his own. "I was their master mason, their magician, their trap door lover. The Shah wanted me gone in the end- my eyes were to be put out and my head mounted on a pike. It was the daroga who saved me from sure death, who assisted my wretched escape."

"The daroga was my... my first companion. He made me swear to never kill again- oh, I showed him, didn't I?- I doubt he walked free from this. From there, I went to Constantinople and fell into the sultan's employment. It was only a short while, dealing with machinery and buildings. I fled from execution once more and-" cough "-in a few months' time, I came to Scandinavia to wipe away my trail."

"I too had hoped to escape solitude when I met you. I-I had also hoped to keep these hands clean." He broke into another series of hacks and curled into a fetal position, shaking so badly that Adam wondered if the man was crying.

And in that instant, the mystery surrounding Erik fell away. It was a fantastical, twisted life he led, one that ran parallel to Adam's own and still managed to be worlds apart. Erik was just a man and Adam knew that whatever he himself was, he was no better or worse.

* * *

Gustave rubbed his sore neck, eyeing the healing cut on his wife's collarbone, and spooned another bit of stew into his mouth. He knew she hated to cause Frederik's family any more trouble, but the snow had not yet let up and in the meantime, they were all stuck in the cottage, including the elderly gentleman he had barely spoken to. But he had little doubt that without the doctor's presence, neither he nor his wife would still be sitting together.

Kristine offered him a gentle smile, hands once more touching the growing abdomen. Gustave wished he could revel in the miracle of life. The cult flashed in his mind and he felt himself shudder. It was not a nightmare. While had had drifted in and out of consciousness, Kristine's bound petrified form appeared in his dreams, the knives and screams, the fires and blood, the drums, the monster's face- the monster that had taken his violin in another nightmare, and the only solace he found through the pain was the angel of music.

The angel of music, whether real or imaginary had saved his life. His memories were mingling. No, the voice had belonged to Erik. Perhaps the voice was shared... The violin case lay at the foot of the borrowed bed, its black still stained with dry blood.

"Where is he?" he asked quietly, hoping Kristine would finally be able to answer.

"I don't know." She shook her head, eyes blurring with bits of water. "I don't like the idea, love. I don't want to think he's still out there- ill, injured, stranded. I feared him, I hated him once, Gustave... but now I don't know."

His eyes stayed fixed on the case. _Isn't this instrument what you wanted, Daae?_

"I want him here, safe and alive, as much as you do, dear," she finished.

He nodded, throat tightening.

* * *

The cold had never bothered Adam until then. Steam left his nostrils as he turned away from the window, his cloak already covered in white. The cottage was slightly larger than Daae's, and older, looking as if the next gust of wind would wear the wood away. He could be at rest, in spite of the bitterness, that Daae was fine, that his hands had not been the cause of more destruction.

It reminded him of the few days spent outside Daae's windows, pondering over his little wife. He shook his head, no longer ashamed, and feeling oddly aware. Surely this was only a sign that he was as much a man as Frankenstein. But there was a conflict raging in his heart.

She had been crying. If he had managed to read her lips correctly, she had been distressed over_ Erik_'s whereabouts, over _his_ pain. She had been shedding tears for him. Compassion.

Adam wondered how Erik would take this- would such a simple action compel his whole outlook to change? Would this bring a permanent end to what little companionship they had left? Or did that not matter anymore? Perhaps they were better off separate, had always been meant for different paths. Overcome by a sudden grief, Adam began the walk back, heavy and cold, colder than he had ever been.

* * *

_No, no, leave Erik be! Leave him be!_ He cried out, trying to wriggle his body away from the shadows. The walls blurred and stretched before him, his vision hazy with pain and a strange sensation, as if he was caught between hell's pits and Hades' river. It was a dream, he had to remind himself. Erik rolled aside, the dead men in a circle around him. There was a gypsy between them, a Persian at the door, a woman by the fire.

_Mother, Erik is sorry- the mask! The mask, mother! Erik will wear the mask and he will be good!_ He vomited, choking and hacking, hands writhing behind him, eager to break free and touch his face. He dragged his body toward the door, the world fading in and out of black. _Daroga, leave Erik be! All of you, leave him be- he has nothing more to offer. Nothing!_

He was almost at the door, body sticky and wet, as if it was sweating blood. His leg refused to move and his back was in agony. Of course, there had been a whipping- he was not submissive, he remembered. Groans and whimpers. Victims of his torture chamber. His chest was a wreck, his shoulder must have been sawed off. That must have been the Shah's punishment. He managed to arrive at the foot of the door before crumpling face down, overcome by pain.

Cough. Cough.

"Erik." Garbled, deep... where? Ah... Adam.

"You should have stayed put."

Water in his lips. Something soft put against his torso. "You bled all over the floor."

His eyes cracked open. He was in Adam's arms, trembling, and lacking the strength to look up. The eyes stayed fixed on the ugly wound in his own side, pink at the edges and held together by messy black thread, bits of angry red showing from the inside, a little yellow seeping out. The abdomen itself was mottled with purple and black. Thin scabbing cuts. He didn't want to know what his chest looked like.

Adam lifted him up. "Erik, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"What we nearly had... it was a wonderful thing, was it not?" _Yes_. "But we cannot pretend any longer."

He could find no words to reply. The meaning behind them refused to sink in as the world darkened. When Erik was aware of his senses once more, he saw Adam's fingers winding a long strip of cloth around his face.

"You'll die if you stay. We both know that."

Ah, that would be no great loss.

* * *

Adam was careful with the other man's sore shoulder as he approached the door, a coil of rope around himself. He had mulled over the decision for hours, and feeling the heat from Erik's body, staring at the bile and blood on the floor, he knew there could not be another wasted night. The storm had finally let up.

Erik trembled in his arms, tangled in a pathetic blanket, as they entered the freezing air. He groaned incoherently with each step, any words muffled by the bandage tucked around his face. Adam ignored the man's pleads for respite and company, journeying on through the knee deep snow. The barking of dogs coincided with his catching sight of the violinist's temporary home. He could make out the shape of Daae's friend circling the cottage.

"I am sorry."

It was the last phrase he ever told Erik. Tired, Adam bridged the distance between himself and the cottage. Not lingering, he propped Erik against a tree and unbound his hands. He then fastened him to the trunk with rope, the blanket lost in the snow.

He was close enough to the crying canines. _Goodbye_.

* * *

_Don't leave him. Don't leave him. Daroga. Adam. _

"Adolph! Adolph what is it!?" Screaming beasts. Hounds...

Erik felt himself slide forward, immobilized by the cold, the strange binds falling apart. A stocky man was coming towards him, several grey dogs at his sides. He was aware of an aging man leaning over him with quiet, concerned eyes.

He felt an overwhelming desire to apologize for dirtying the man's hand with his blood before darkness overtook his surroundings once more.

Kristine would awake that morning to the sound of Erik's fevered moans.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Reviews count as IV bags for Erik- and the torture is finally over, honest this time. One more chapter plus an epilogue and it's over. Was this worth reading? A waste of time? A decent crossover? Let me know!**

**Next time: the Daaes learn something else about the cult, the doctor has another epic night, and Gustave comes up with a name for the baby (I wonder what that could be...)**


End file.
